THE   STORY  OF  MOLLIE 


THE 


STORY  OF  MOLLIE 


BY 

MARIAN    BOWER 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 
1897 


Copyright,  1897, 
BY  MARIAN  BOWER. 


JortN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


SRLB 
IJB11 


The  Story  of  Mollie 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  nursery  at  the  Dower  House  was  in  the 
oldest  part  of  that  building.  It  was  a  low,  long 
room  with  a  wide  window,  rilled  with  little 
diamond-shaped  panes,  and  with  a  seat  below 
the  frame,  formed  out  of  the  thickness  of  the 
wall. 

Without,  the  ivy  had  climbed  for  so  many 
years  up  the  dull-colored  bricks  that  its  more 
tender  arms,  those  that  had  not  yet  learned 
how  to  attach  themselves  for  their  upward 
journey,  often  strayed  across  the  glass  and 
tapped  on  the  panes,  so  that  Mollie  might 
notice  them  —  at  least,  so  Mollie  thought. 

But  at  this  moment,  though  the  latest  green 
spray  was  across  the  window,  and  the  sunshine 
was  making  it  even  a  fuller,  clearer  color  than 
usual,  Mollie's  attention  was  occupied  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room. 


2  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Close  to  the  old-fashioned  fireplace,  where  in 
winter  Mollie  saw  all  the  fairies  and  sprites 
dance  up  the  chimney  on  the  blaze,  and  where 
she  saw,  in  the  bright  embers,  enchanted 
palaces  and  wonderful  caverns  that  were  the 
homes  of  magicians  and  princes,  but  which  was 
now  quite  dark  and  empty,  all  the  fairies  and 
princes  and  magicians  and  sprites  having  gone 
to  whisper  to  the  leaves  on  the  trees,  or  dance 
with  the  butterflies  and  swing  on  the  flower 
bells,  or  sleep  in  the  heart  of  the  red  roses,  — 
close  by  this  empty  grate,  nurse  had  pushed 
up  the  table  and  was  unpacking  a  box. 

It  came  from  the  big  shop  to  which  mamma 
sometimes  took  Mollie,  and  in  that  box  was 
a  new  dress  for  Claude.  He  was  such  a  little 
boy/ —  he  still  had  to  wear  dresses.  No  doubt, 
he  would  be  very  glad  when  he  was  promoted 
to  sailor  suits  and  wide  trousers.  Mollie  sup- 
posed being  a  boy  made  those  things  peculiarly 
acceptable,  but,  for  her  part,  she  thought  blue 
velvet  and  lace  collars  more  beautiful. 

Nurse  held  up  the  little  garment  and  ex- 
amined the  Irish  point  with  appreciative  fingers. 

"  It 's  beautiful !  he  will  look  a  picture  in  it, 
he  will !  "  she  remarked,  and  then  she  added, 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  3 

more  to  herself,  "  There 's  a  pleasure  as  well 
as  a  credit  in  dressing  him," — with  a  stress  on 
the  pronoun. 

Mollie's  thin  little  hands  went  together;  the 
dark  eyes  grew  rounder,  larger.  She  was  only 
a  little  girl,  hardly  nine  years  old,  but  she  knew 
what  nurse  meant. 

Not  that  nurse  intended  to  be  unkind.  The 
mistake  was  she  had  not  calculated  upon  the 
child's  understanding.  But  to  miss  the  obvious 
with  a  mind  like  Mollie's  is  no  guarantee  that 
it  will  not  grasp  the  unusual,  the  remote. 

The  thought,  and  the  consequence  she  at- 
tached to  it,  pressed  so  hard  on  the  child  that 
she  endeavored  to  translate  it  into  words. 
Mollie  did  not  often  deliberately  put  such 
inquiries;  they  usually  drew  down  on  her  the 
rebuke  she  dreaded.  Generally  when  she  asked 
for  the  explanation  to  her  puzzles,  she  was 
called  unnatural,  not  like  other  little  girls,  and 
that  seemed  to  her  a  dreadful  term  of  reproach, 
all  the  more  so,  because  it  was  at  once  so  vague 
and  so  apparent.  If  it  had  meant  anything  like 
sitting  straight  on  one's  chair  or  keeping  a  pina- 
fore clean,  Mollie  would  have  at  once  set  to 
work  to  remedy  the  defect,  for  she  was  a  little 


4  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

person  with  quite  a  passion  for  doing  her  duty. 
But  it  was  something  in  herself;  she  was  quite 
clear  upon  that,  though  she  connected  it,  by 
who  can  tell  what  curious  links  and  chains,  with 
mamma's  partiality  for  Claude  and  with  that 
young  gentleman's  golden  hair  and  lace  collars. 

"  Nurse,"  she  said  now,  in  response  to  the 
prompting  of  her  little  mind,  "  is  God  angry 
with  little  girls  that  are  not  like  other  little 
girls?  Is  that  why  my  hair  has  to  be  put  into 
curl-papers  every  night?  I  wish — "with  a 
long  sigh  —  "  it  was  yellow  like  Claude's,  and 
curled  when  you  just  brushed  it  round  your 
finger." 

But  nurse  was  shocked,  not  explanatory. 

"  It 's  very  naughty  of  you  to  say  such  things, 
Miss  Mollie,"  she  decreed.  "  You  are  n't  going 
to  be  jealous  of  your  little  brother,  are  you?" 

"  Jealous,  nursie,"  ventured  the  small  woman  ; 
"what  is  jealous?" 

"  There  now,"  retorted  nurse,  "  it 's  something 
very  naughty.  You  '11  know  all  about  it  when 
you  are  grown  up ;  it  will  be  time  enough  to 
learn  then,  I  can  tell  you." 

So  saying,  nurse  took  up  Claude's  frock  and 
retreated,  by  way  of  closing  the  discussion. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  5 

When  she  was  left  alone,  Mollie  walked  very 
soberly  across  the  room  to  the  far  corner  where 
Josephine  sat  propped  up  between  the  tram- 
stables  and  the  Tower  of  Babel  bricks.  The 
child  took  Josephine  into  her  arms  and  went  to 
curl  herself  up  in  the  sunniest  corner  of  the 
window-seat. 

Mollie  loved  sunshine  as  she  loved  the  flowers, 
the  birds,  the  clouds,  especially  the  tiny  white 
ones,  which  looked  like  snowflakes  that  had 
asked  if  they  might  run  races  across  the  blue 
sky  until  "  Mr.  Jack  Frost "  wanted  them  to 
help  him  to  make  the  ground  all  white  for 
Christmas. 

She  loved  them  all  without  in  the  least  know- 
ing why.  She  loved,  too,  the  stars  which  came 
twinkling  out  of  the  darkness  at  night;  but 
she  only  loved  them  sometimes. 

She  was  very  glad  to  see  them  when  she  had 
been  a  good  girl  during  the  day ;  but  when  she 
had  been  naughty,  she  was  afraid  that,  as  they 
were  so  near  to  God,  they  might  tell  Him  what 
they  saw,  and  then  what  if  He  should  say  any- 
thing to  papa?  who  was  up  there  because  God 
wanted  him  to  live  with  Him. 

She   leaned   her  head   against   the  window- 


6  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

frame,  and  let  the  warmth  of  the  sunshine  rest 
on  her  cheek.  She  laid  Josephine  where  she 
too  could  feel  how  warm  it  was,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  Mollie  was  silent,  rocking  Josephine  to 
and  fro. 

Josephine  was  old  and  ugly  and  battered, 
but  she  had  been  Mollie's  doll  ever  since  the 
little  girl  could  remember  anything;  she  was 
her  very  own,  her  playmate,  her  confidant,  her 
charge. 

"Josephine,"  she  whispered,  and  her  little 
face  wore  an  expression  of  great  perplexity, 
"  I  wonder  what  it 's  like  to  be  grown  up.  I 
do  want  to  be  grown  up ;  but  I  '11  love  you 
always,  dear;  you  won't  mind  my  being  big 
because  I  '11  always  take  you  with  me.  You 
won't  mind  if  I  want  to  grow  big  very  fast." 

In  her  earnestness,  Mollie's  voice  rose  above 
a  whisper. 

"Miss  Mollie!  " 

The  child  started;  she  clutched  Josephine  a 
little  tighter. 

"  Nurse  !  "  she  faltered. 

The  woman  came  up  to  the  window. 

"You  were  talking  to  yourself,"  she  said 
severely,  for  this,  she  held,  was  one  of  the  un- 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  7 

comfortable  habits  of  which  it  was  her  duty  to 
"  break  "  her  charge. 

"No,"  rejoined  Mollie;  "  I  was  telling  Jose- 
phine something." 

Nurse  looked  down  impatiently. 

"  You  know  that 's  only  an  excuse,"  she 
rejoined.  "  You  might  just  as  well  be  talking 
to  yourself  as  to  a  doll.  You  know  that." 

"No,"  demurred  the  child;  "I  was  tell- 
ing—" 

"  There  you  go !  You  are  arguing  now. 
It 's  very  rude  of  little  girls  to  argue." 

Mollie's  eyes  fell  beneath  the  reproof. 

"  You  are  very  tiresome,  very !  "  concluded 
nurse,  who  was  of  those  individuals  who  always 
round  off  a  victory  with  an  extra  blow  to  the 
vanquished. 

The  color  sprang  to  the  child's  cheeks. 
That  was  another  hopeless  thing.  She  was  so 
often  rude  without  intending  it. 

The  little  hand  went  out  timidly.  Timidly 
she  pulled  her  nurse's  white  frock ;  there  was 
something  in  the  action  which  touched  the 
woman.  Nurse  was  by  no  means  ill-natured, 
and  in  reality  she  was  much  attached  to  the 
little  girl ;  but  she  was  irritated  and  perplexed 


8  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

by  what  she  termed  Mollie's  unnaturalness. 
She  objected  to  lapses  from  the  accepted  pat- 
tern of  childhood.  She  wondered  why  the 
little  girl's  head  was  full  of  unlikely  fancies. 
"  She  did  n't  know  where  she  had  got  them 
from,  she  was  sure." 

For  it  asks  much  of  a  mind  to  grasp  —  much 
less  to  comprehend — the  exquisiteness  of  a 
deviation  toward  sensibility  and  imagination 
of  anything  in  itself  so  naturally  exquisite  as 
a  child's  nature. 

But  all  at  once,  as  the  little  hand  clung  to 
her,  nurse  remembered,  "  What  a  fuss  the  master 
had  made  of  the  child  before  he  was  took !  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  into  the  garden  and 
play  while  Claude  is  asleep?"  she  suggested. 
"  You  won't  get  into  mischief  if  I  let  you  go 
alone?" 

The  child  slipped  down.  She  held  up  a 
shining  face. 

"  No,"  she  said  softly. 

"  Come,  and  I  '11  put  on  your  bonnet,"  con- 
tinued nurse. 

"May  I  take  Josephine?"  the  child  asked, 
when  the  strings  of  her  white  sunbonnet  were 
tied  under  her  chin. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  9 

'*  You  always  do,"  replied  nurse,  impatiently, 
and  Mollie's  face  fell  again,  for  she  had  put  the 
question  as  a  proof  of  extra  submission  and 
respect. 

Very  soberly  Mollie  walked  into  the  garden. 
Her  plain  little  face  was  still  downcast,  and  its 
lack  of  childhood's  prettiness  was  more  appar- 
ent than  usual.  The  white  sunbonnet  accentu- 
ated the  sallow  complexion,  though,  as  mamma 
put  it,  "  There  never  was  a  child  except  Mollie 
to  whom  they  were  not  becoming." 

The  sun  was  still  shining,  the  flowers  were  so 
bright  and  gay,  the  great  trees  in  the  beech  walk 
met  and  formed  an  arch  of  green.  A  butterfly 
danced  by,  flirting  its  delicate  blue  wings,  the 
"painted  lady"  following  it,  settled  on  a  rose, 
poised  itself,  an  upright  wedge  of  beflowered 
color,  then,  with  a  salutation  of  its  little  black 
arms,  —  Mollie  thought  they  were  arms,  —  it 
dipped  to  kiss  the  rose  and  fluttered  away  again. 

"  Josephine,"  whispered  the  child,  as  the  but- 
terfly flashed  out  of  sight,  "  do  you  think  there 
are  any  little  butterflies  that  are  not  grown  up?" 

For  this  one  was  so  joyous  it  could  hardly 
be  very  young.  To  be  grown  up  was  the  very 
head  and  front  of  the  child's  desires.  It  meant 


io  THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

so  many  things.  First  and  foremost,  it  meant 
the  right  to  knowledge.  Nurse  always  rele- 
gated an  inconvenient  thirst  for  information  to 
that  hazy  period.  Then  it  meant  never  doing 
wrong  without  knowing  it,  never  being  rude 
without  intending  it.  It  meant  several  other 
things,  —  things  without  names  to  the  child, 
but  which  her  elders,  had  any  one  been  shrewd 
enough  to  guess  the  desires  of  that  small  heart, 
could  have  told  her  was  a  thirst  for  happiness. 

There  are  many  fallacies,  but  surely  one  of 
the  greatest  is,  that  childhood  and  happiness 
are  virtually  synonymous  terms.  On  the  con- 
trary, is  not  your  first  heartache  the  one  you 
remember  to  your  dying  day  ? 

Mollie  lingered  among  the  flowers  until  she 
was  tired,  then  she  went  into  the  beech  walk  to 
a  little  seat  she  knew  of  there,  formed  by  a 
stump  of  a  dead  tree. 

She  wedged  herself  in,  close  to  the  trunk  of 
the  silver  birch.  She  looked  up  at  the  lace- 
like  foliage. 

"Josephine,  isn't  it  nice?"  she  murmured; 
"  see,  you  can  see  all  the  sky  coming  through. 
I  wish  I  could  read  to  you,  Josephine,  but  all 
the  books  are  in  the  nursery." 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  11 

Mollie  had  just  begun  to  read  to  herself,  and 
what  a  delight  she  found  it !  She  sighed  ;  she 
wished  nurse  did  not  mind  her  running  into 
the  nursery  to  fetch  things. 

She  waited  a  little. 

"  Josephine,"  she  murmured,  as  the  thought 
struck  her,  "  I  '11  tell  you  a  tale." 

She  began,  and  the  story  which  Mollie  found 
for  that  day  of  warmth  and  gladness  and  sun- 
shine was  the  story  of  the  Deluge. 

Mamma  had  recently  given  her  a  book  of  Bible 
stories  in  words  of  not  more  than  six  letters,  and, 
whatever  else  Mollie  might  do,  she  extracted 
the  dramatic  possibilities  out  of  the  narratives. 

She  knew  all  about  the  Flood,  especially 
about  the  horror  of  it.  She  had,  more  than 
once,  been  kept  awake  at  night  fancying  she 
could  hear  the  rush  of  the  water,  and  she  was 
very  frightened  when  she  wondered  whether  it 
would  come  over  again  if  people  grew  so  wicked 
that  God  took  the  bow  out  of  the  sky.  She 
was  doubly  frightened  when  she  wondered  if 
grown-up  people  were  ever  naughty  toward 
God  without  knowing  it;  because  if  it  was  as 
easy  for  them  to  displease  Him  without  mean- 
ing it,  as  it  was  for  her  to  displease  mamma  and 


12  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

nurse  in  that  way,  —  then  it  almost  seemed  as 
if  a  second  Deluge  might  be  expected  at  any 
moment.  God  knew  all  about  people,  and  He 
would  n't  punish  them  for  what  they  did  not 
mean,  would  He? 

She  told  Josephine  about  the  Flood.  She 
had  just  reached  the  point  where  the  land  was 
all  covered  with  water. 

"  It  was  cold  water,  Josephine,"  she  explained, 
"  colder  even  than  the  bath  before  nurse  puts 
the  kettleful  in." 

Just  as  she  said  that  she  heard  nurse  call- 
ing. Mollie  did  not  want  to  move:  she  wanted 
to  finish  her  story ;  she  was  quite  as  much  in- 
terested in  it  as  Josephine  could  possibly  be. 
She  curled  closer  into  her  corner.  She  would 
not  say  she  did  not  hear;  but  nurse  would  go 
away  and  think  she  had  not. 

Mollie  proceeded  to  explain  to  Josephine 
how  the  little  babies  cried  out  in  the  cold  water, 
—  babies  wanted  water  the  warmest  of  all ; 
Claude  had  nearly  two  kettlefuls  to  her  one  in 
his  bath,  —  how  these  poor  babies'  mammas 
were  so  sorry,  but  they  could  not  help  it  though 
their  babies  did  cry  more  than  —  than  Mrs. 
Wilson's  new  one  at  the  Lodge. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  13 

"  Miss  Mollie !  "  came  the  impatient  voice. 

The  child  tried  to  go  on  with  her  story. 

"  Josephine,"  she  interrupted,  sinking  her  tone 
into  a  very  thin  whisper,  "  it  is  n't  a  story  if  I 
sit  still.  I  never  said  anything." 

But  nurse  did  not  go  away.  Again  came  the 
call.  The  child  began  to  understand  that  it 
was  a  case  of  going  or  being  discovered. 

She  slipped  to  the  ground. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all  the  rest  as  soon  as  I  can," 
she  said,  and  she  kissed  Josephine  twice. 

She  ran  down  the  path  into  the  garden. 

"  Miss  Mollie,"  cried  nurse,  as  soon  as  the 
little  girl  came  in  sight,  "  I  've  been  calling  ever 
so  long.  Stay  with  Claude ;  I  'm  so  busy." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child,  and  nurse  turned  to 

go- 

Mollie  and  Claude  went  a  few  steps  down  the 
walk  hand  in  hand,  and  then  the  little  girl 
turned. 

"  Stay  there,"  she  said  to  her  brother,  and 
she  hurried  after  nurse. 

"  Nursie,"  she  called,  "  nursie  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  woman,  as  she  waited  on  the 
path. 

"Will  you  take  Josephine  in?" 


14  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"  Are  you  tired  of  her?  "  inquired  nurse. 

The  little  hands  went  together.  It  was  a  habit 
of  Mollie's  when  she  was  in  difficulty  ;  but  she 
seemed  to  be  the  only  little  girl  who  ever  found 
such  a  proceeding  a  help,  because  every  one 
objected  so  much  to  it.  Mamma  had  perplexed 
her  exceedingly  by  calling  the  movement  af- 
fected. The  child  had  thought  about  it  a  great 
deal,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was 
another  of  the  naughty  things  she  did  without 
meaning  to. 

Nurse,  too,  objected  to  the  action.  In  her 
opinion,  it  looked  as  though  she  ill-treated  the 
child. 

"  Why  are  you  screwing  your  hands  up  ?  "  she 
asked  sharply.  Mollie  stood  abashed,  confused. 

Claude,  however,  created  a  diversion.  He 
toddled  up  and  directed  longing  looks  toward 
Josephine. 

"  Me  want  dolly,"  he  intimated. 

"  No,"  cried  Mollie,  for  the  small  man  was  by 
no  means  gentle  in  his  treatment  of  Josephine. 
She  owed  the  biggest  dent  in  her  nose  and  the 
scar  on  her  cheek  to  him. 

Mollie  pressed  Josephine  tightly  to  her. 

"  Let  him  have  her,"  suggested  nurse. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  15 

Mollie  hugged  her  doll  yet  more  tightly. 

"  Me,"  demanded  Claude. 

"  No,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Miss  Mollie,  I  do  call  that  selfish,"  decreed 
nurse. 

"  He  'd  pull  her  hair,"  faltered  Mollie,  and  her 
lip  began  to  tremble.  "  He  pulled  it  dreadfully 
the  last  time  I  let  him  hold  her." 

"She's  only  an  old  doll,"  argued  nurse. 

"  She  's  Josephine,"  Mollie  reminded  her. 

"  Give  it  to  him,"  went  on  nurse ;  "  I  never 
saw  such  a  queer  child  as  you  are.  You  would  n't 
part  with  one  of  your  old  things,  —  no,  not  was  it 
ever  so  !  I  believe  you  would  a  great  deal  rather 
give  up  your  newest  toy.  But  Claude  is  only  a 
little  boy,  and  you  ought  to  give  way  to  your 
little  brother." 

But  the  child  still  shook  her  head.  Mollie  was 
evidently  about  to  be  obstinate.  Her  self-will 
usually  manifested  itself  over  much  this  kind  of 
matter. 

"  Now,"  said  nurse,  growing  peremptory, 
"  give  it  to  him  this  minute,  or  you  go  straight 
into  the  nursery,  and  into  the  corner." 

For  a  moment  Mollie  looked  toward  the 
sunlight,  the  flowers,  the  trees.  A  bee  droned 


1 6  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

fussily  past.  She  wondered  if  it  were  going  to 
the  mignonette  bed.  She  would  like  to  follow 
and  see ;  but  —  she  pressed  Josephine's  battered 
face  right  down  into  her  arms,  and,  hanging  her 
head,  walked  up  the  drive  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER   II 

NURSE,  as  she  emphatically  expressed  it, 
"  could  n't  abide  sulks  neither  in  children  nor 
in  their  betters;  "  so  by  the  time  the  nursery 
dinner  was  placed  on  the  table,  Mollie  was  out 
of  the  corner  and  restored  to  all  but  the  favor 
of  her  own  conscience. 

That  troubled  her.  Nurse  had  called  her 
selfish,  and  it  was  very  naughty  to  be  selfish ; 
besides,  she  had  been  selfish  toward  Claude, 
and  that  was  yet  worse.  Little  girls  ought  to  be 
ever  so  kind  to  their  little  brothers ;  above  all, 
they  ought  to  give  way  to  them. 

Still  there  was  Josephine,  and  Mollie  was 
sure  that  Josephine  was  to  be  considered.  The 
child  knew  nothing  about  such  a  long  word  as 
"  protection,"  but  she  felt  as  though  that  were 
the  thing  Josephine  expected  of  her. 

How  could  she  have  taken  care  of  Josephine 
and  satisfied  Claude?  An  older  person  would 


1 8  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

have  met  the  question  with  an  epigram,  and 
taken  comfort  in  the  contrariness  of  this  world ; 
but  Mollie  was  only  conscious  of  penitence.  She 
wondered  what  she  could  do  to  show  it.  She  had 
not  long  to  wait.  Nurse  put  a  plate  before  her. 

"  Sugar,"  said  the  woman. 

Mollie  looked  down  at  her  rice  pudding.  She 
particularly  disliked  rice  pudding  without  sugar. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said. 

Nurse  found  this  an  occasion  of  cavilling. 

"  I  never  saw  anything  like  you,  Miss  Mollie," 
she  declared.  "  You  are  as  changeable  as  the 
wind.  Last  time  you  teased  for  sugar  until  your 
pudding  was  as  sweet —  as  sweet  as  sugar  itself. 
This  time  you  don't  want  any.  I  don't  know 
what  you  will  be  like  when  you  grow  up  if 
you  go  on  in  this  way." 

Mollie  looked  toward  Claude.  Surely  he 
would  understand.  But  Claude's  baby  face  was 
bent  over  his  plate. 

Mollie's  hands  went  together. 

"  Eat  your  dinner,"  commanded  nurse. 

The  child  took  up  her  spoon.  She  had  been 
—  been  —  what  did  mamma  call  it?  It  was 
quite  a  long  word,  longer  than  any  in  her  Bible 
story-book.  Anyway,  whatever  it  might  be 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  19 

called,  she  had  done  something  naughty,  and 
nurse  was  cross  with  her  again.  She  felt  choked. 
She  raised  her  dark  eyes,  which  were  the  only 
good  feature  in  her  thin,  wistful  little  face,  and 
they  were  so  large  and  so  plaintive  that  they 
only  emphasized  the  insignificance  of  their  set- 
ting, —  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  window.  The 
loose  sprig  of  ivy  was  lying  on  the  pane,  the 
leaves  just  brushed  the  glass,  Mollie  could  see 
that  the  wind  must  be  stirring  them,  and  then 
between  them  and  the  window  seemed  to  dart  a 
bright  gleam  of  sunlight.  The  glass  had  stopped 
the  ivy  leaf,  but  the  sunlight  came  through. 
Mollie  knew  that.  She  saw  it  a  moment,  a 
straight  cut  of  light  on  the  dark  polish  of  the 
window-seat.  She  began  to  wonder  how  it  got 
through  the  glass.  It  was  not  cut  or  hurt.  She 
did  not  think  sunbeams  could  be  hurt.  She 
would  be  hurt  if  she  tried  to  get  through  glass, 
and  the  window  would  be  broken.  She  lost 
herself  in  this  tangle.  Was  this  one  of  the  many 
things  she  would  know  when  she  was  grown 
up? 

"  Miss  Mollie  !  " 

The  child  started. 

"  Miss  Mollie,"  repeated  nurse,  "  I  Ve  spoken 


20  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

to  you  twice.  Finish  your  pudding,  do  !  How 
you  loiter !  " 

With  a  little  gasp  the  child  lifted  her  spoon 
to  her  lips.  The  tastelessness  of  the  food  re- 
minded her.  She  had  forgotten  Claude,  for- 
gotten to  be  sorry  that  she  had  been  unkind 
to  him,  in  thinking  of  the  sunbeam. 

Nurse  had  said  to  her,  that  time  when  she  up- 
set the  tea  and  made  such  a  mess  on  the  draw- 
ing-room carpet,  if  she  were  really  sorry,  she 
would  remember  to  be  more  careful  in  future. 
Then  to  be  sorry  was  to  do  — what  she  had  not 
done. 

"  Claude,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  they  had  put 
their  hands  nicely  and  nurse  had  said  grace, 
"  I  '11  play  with  you.  You,"  bravely,  "  shall 
have  my  man  with  a  bell." 

No  sooner  were  they  released  from  the  table 
than  Claude  demanded  the  fulfilment  of  the 
promise. 

"  Bell,"  he  said,  as  he  seated  himself  in  their 
favorite  corner  close  to  the  tram-stables. 

Mollie  looked  at  him  a  moment. 

"Would  n't  you  like  these  horses,  Claude?" 
suggested  she;  "they  all  come  out  of  their 
stalls.  Make  them  all  stand  in  a  row,  like 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  21 

this,"  —  and  she  began  to  take  them  out,  one 
by  one. 

"  Bell  man,"  persisted  Claude. 

"Won't  the  bricks  do?"  continued  Mollie. 
"  I  '11  build  you  ever  such  a  big  castle,  and  you 
can  knock  it  all  down  again." 

"  Bell  man,"  was  Claude's  response. 

"You  said  he  might  have  it  yourself,  Miss 
Mollie,"  interposed  nurse.  "  I  should  let  him 
have  that,  instead  of  those  nice  new  tram-stables, 
if  I  were  you." 

"  Bell,"  clamored  Claude,  seizing  his  advan- 
tage. 

Silently  Mollie  thrust  the  biggest  horse  into 
the  small  man's  hand ;  but  Claude  let  it  drop 
impatiently. 

"  Bell,"  he  repeated.  He  drew  a  long  face. 
Mollie  thought  he  was  going  to  cry. 

She  got  up  quickly  and  fetched  her  treasure. 
It  was  old,  it  was  ugly,  it  was  much  the  worse 
for  wear.  She  had  defaced  it  herself  when  she 
was  too  little  to  know  any  better ;  but  she  had 
been  sorry  ever  since,  and  had  tried  to  take  extra 
care  of  it  to  make  up  for  her  thoughtlessness. 

There  was  no  doubt  at  all  that  Mollie  re- 
gretted her  generous  impulse.  She  wished  she 


22  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

had  not  offered  to  let  Claude  play  with  it.  She 
placed  the  toy  before  him. 

"  You  won't  spoil  it,"  she  said,  as  she  ran  the 
square  carriage  along  and  showed  the  little  boy 
how  the  man,  seated  thereon,  hammered  the 
bell  before  him  with  each  turn  of  the  wheels. 

"  You  won't  spoil  it,"  she  repeated. 

But  the  demon  of  mischief  had  entered  into 
Master  Claude.  As  it  made  its  first  trip  before 
him,  he  grabbed  at  the  carriage  and  overturned 
it. 

"  You  must  n't,  Claude,"  cried  Mollie. 

She  moved  a  little  farther  away. 

"  Me,"  demanded  Claude. 

"  I  '11  roll  it  for  you,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Me,"  came  the  answer. 

Claude  clutched  the  little  man  by  the  up- 
raised arm,  and  the  wire  hand  which  held  the 
bell  fell  useless.  The  wheels  went  round,  but 
there  was  nothing  with  which  to  strike  the  bell. 

"  You  Ve  broken  it,"  said  Mollie,  very  slowly. 

Claude  appeared  totally  unmoved  by  that. 
He  pushed  himself  along  the  floor  nearer  to  the 
toy.  He  took  it  in  his  hand  and  laughed  as  he 
felt  it  really  in  his  possession. 

Then   happened  one  of  those  dreadful  things 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  23 

which  did  occur  to  Mollie  sometimes.  She 
rushed  at  her  little  brother;  she  —  she  did  not 
quite  know  what  she  had  done  until  she  found 
herself  in  nurse's  grasp  and  that  Claude  was 
crying. 

"  You  naughty,  bad,  wicked  little  girl !  "  said 
nurse. 

But  Mollie  was  reduced  to  that  state  of  resent- 
ment which  takes  refuge  in  self-justification. 

"  He  broke  my  man,  he  did !  "  she  said. 

"  Well,  if  he  did,"  conceded  nurse,  "  it  was 
very  naughty  of  him;  but  you  need  not  have 
flown  into  a  passion.  He  's  only  a  little  boy, 
and  little  boys  don't  know  any  better.  You  are 
far  more  naughty  than  he  is,  far !  " 

"  Don't  little  boys  know  when  they  are 
naughty?"  demanded  Mollie. 

"  No,"  answered  nurse,  thinking  that  this 
would  serve  as  an  easy  way  out  of  many  per- 
plexities. 

"  Did  they  never  know?"  persisted  the  child. 

"  Not  when  they  are  very  little,"  explained 
nurse.  "  You  are  old  enough  to  know,  because 
you  are  bigger  than  Claude  ;  but  if  you  were  a 
little  baby  and  could  n't  speak,  it  would  be 
different." 


24  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"  Then,"  decided  Mollie,  her  mind  darting  on 
to  quite  another  matter,  "  I  don't  call  it  fair  of 
God." 

"  Miss  Mollie  !  "  cried  nurse,  aghast. 

"  He,"  clamored  the  child,  "  drowned  all  the 
babies  at  the  Flood.  They  could  n't  have  told 
stories,  because  they  couldn't  speak;  and  if 
they  did  n't  know  when  they  were  naughty,  it 
isn't  fair." 

This  argument  quite  took  nurse's  breath  away. 

"  I  do  declare,"  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  she 
had  somewhat  recovered  from  her  astonishment. 
"  You  are  the  very  unnaturalist  little  girl  that 
ever  was  born.  Go  into  the  corner !  Taking 
up  the  Almighty  like  that !  It 's  wicked,  it  is ! 
I  have  a  good  mind  to  keep  you  with  your  face 
to  the  wall  all  the  afternoon." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  children  always  went  into  the  drawing-room 
about  five  o'clock;  but  on  this  afternoon  —  that 
is,  two  afternoons  after  Mollie  had  been  in  a 
"  naughty  temper  "  with  Claude  —  the  little  girl 
gathered  that  mamma  was  expecting  visitors. 

She  came  to  that  conclusion  because  nurse 
had  put  out  her  best  muslin  frock,  the  one  with 
white  daisies  all  over  it. 

It  had  rained  all  the  morning,  so  the  children 
had  spent  their  time  in  the  nursery.  But  Mollie 
had  not  found  it  dull.  She  had  watched  the  big 
raindrops  catch  the  little  ones  upon  the  window- 
panes  ;  she  had  played  with  Claude ;  and  when, 
after  dinner,  the  small  man  fell  asleep,  she  curled 
herself  up  on  the  favorite  window-seat  with 
Josephine  and  her  book. 

At  length  she  looked  up. 

"  Sit  there,  Josephine,"  she  whispered,  as  she 
propped  the  doll  between  a  cushion  and  the 
window.  "  I  won't  be  long  before  I  come  back." 


26  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

She  went  across  the  room  to  nurse's  side. 

"Well,"  said  the  woman.  Nurse  had  found  a 
hole,  and  was  darning  the  muslin.  She  raised 
her  head  with  a  pleasant  smile ;  but  as  she  saw 
the  expression  on  the  child's  face,  she  knew  that 
she  was  about  to  be  asked  a  string  of  incon- 
venient questions. 

"  Go  and  play,  dear,"  she  hastily  interposed. 
"I'm  too  busy  to  talk.  Your  mamma  wants 
you  to  wear  this  dress,  and  I  can't  let  you  go 
down  till  it's  darned." 

But  Mollie's  need  was  great. 

"  Nurse,"  she  argued,  "  you  can  talk,  too.  You 
don't  sew  with  your  tongue." 

"  Lor !  "  ejaculated  nurse,  as  she  stayed  her 
needle  in  the  air.  "  Was  there  ever  such  a  child  ! 
If  you  were  Claude  now,"  she  continued,  "and 
him  so  fair  and  that  like  a  picture,  I  'd  say  you 
weren't  long  for  here.  But  — "  And  nurse 
paused,  unable  to  determine  the  fate  of  a  child 
who  was  at  once  plain  and  peculiar. 

"What's  'for  here'?"  demanded  Mollie. 

Nurse  snapped  her  thread.  She  was  shocked 
at  her  own  indiscretion.  She  had  not  meant  the 
child  to  hear ;  at  least,  she  had  not  realized 
that  she  was  speaking  aloud. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  27 

"  How  you  do  take  one  up,  child !  "  she  de- 
clared. "  Come,  it 's  time  you  had  your  hair 
done." 

Thus  Mollie  found  that,  instead  of  having  her 
doubts  set  at  rest,  she  was  lifted  onto  a  high 
chair  to  undergo  a  process  she  particularly  de- 
tested. Her  hair  was  never  intended  to  wave, 
and  she  was  tired  of  sitting  still  and  holding  her 
head  in  one  position  long  before  it  was  crimped 
to  nurse's  satisfaction.  Besides,  she  was  afraid 
that  Josephine  might  wonder  why  she  was  left 
all  alone. 

Then  she  and  Claude  were  dressed,  and  just 
as  her  sash  was  tied,  Martha  came  to  say  that 
mamma  had  asked  for  them. 

The  children  went  down  hand  in  hand. 

"  You  must  keep  hold,  Claude,"  the  little 
woman  whispered.  "  Mamma  said  I  was  to 
take  hold  of  your  hand  whenever  we  went  into 
the  drawing-room." 

But  no  sooner  was  the  door  opened  than 
Claude  forgot,  —  he  was  a  very  little  boy,  you 
see;  he  wrenched  his  fingers  out  of  Mollie's 
grasp,  and  bounded  across  to  mamma. 

Mollie  looked  at  her  mother.  What  a  pretty 
picture  they  made,  the  two  together,  —  mamma 


28  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

bending  over  Claude,  the  two  golden  heads  to- 
gether !  But  would  mamma  think  she  had  not 
done  as  she  was  told  —  would  — 

A  voice  broke  on  her  perplexity. 

"Can't  you  say  how  do  you  do,  Mollie?" 
asked  Mrs.  Hargraves;  and  then  the  little  girl 
realized  that  she  was  still  standing  by  the  door, 
and  that  she  had  never  looked  to  see  who  was 
in  the  room. 

She  went  forward.  Claude  had  already  made 
friends  with  the  new  lady.  He  was  standing  by 
her  side,  looking  up  into  her  face  with  that  con- 
fident, friendly  smile  of  his. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Mollie,  as  she 
joined  the  group. 

"Is  this  your  little  girl,  Mrs.  Hargraves?" 
said  the  visitor.  "  Well !  "  with  a  laugh,  "  it  is 
easy  to  determine  which  child  resembles  you." 

Mrs.  Hargraves  moved  her  golden  head  with 
the  deliberately  graceful  movement  which  was 
so  characteristic  of  her. 

"  Claude,"  she  said,  "has  my  coloring.  Mol- 
lie," with  a  sharper  note  in  her  voice,  "  can  you 
take  this  cup  to  the  lady?" 

The  child  came  unwillingly  toward  the  tea- 
table.  Over  there  by  the  armchair  —  Mollie 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  29 

could  see  it  now;  there  was  nearly  always  a 
sunbeam  which  seemed  especially  to  point  it 
out  to  her  —  was  the  big  stain  she  had  made  on 
the  carpet  when  she  spilled  Aunt  Amy's  cup. 
She  had  not  known  then  how  it  happened ;  she 
was  always  in  terror  that  the  same  thing  might 
occur  again.  She  did  wonder,  when  the  men 
brought  a  new  carpet  here,  as  they  had  brought 
one  to  the  nursery  only  a  few  weeks  ago,  whether 
she  would  forget  what  had  been,  and  be  able  to 
carry  a  tea-cup  as  easily  as  Claude  carried  that 
little  plate  of  bread  and  butter. 

"  Come,"  repeated  mamma,  as  the  child  hesi- 
tated, for  Mollie  seemed  to  see  that  stain  with 
unusual  clearness  to-day. 

"  Me,"  interposed  Claude. 

"  Not  that,  my  precious,"  said  mamma,  as 
she  bent  over  him;  "you  shall  take  this,"  —  and 
she  placed  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter  on  a  very 
little  plate. 

"  My  little  boy  is  so  anxious  to  bring  you 
something  himself,"  said  Mrs.  Hargraves,  as  she 
turned  to  her  visitor  with  that  fascinating  smile 
which  had  served  her  so  well  all  her  life. 

"  Dear  little  man  !  "  came  the  gratified  answer. 

"  Mollie,"  said  mamma. 


30  THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

But  the  sunlight  was  on  that  dark  stain.  It 
seemed  to  the  child  that  it  was  telling  her  she 
would  spill  the  cup  again  if  she  took  it  in  her 
hand.  Yet  mamma  was  holding  one  out  to  her. 
She  came  up  to  the  tea-table.  Her  hands  were 
pressed  tightly  together;  her  eyes  quite  stared 
from  the  thin  face  and  its  incongruous  frame  of 
befrizzled  hair. 

"  I  can't,  mamma,"  she  gasped. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  looked  at  her  little  daughter. 
There  was  a  gleam  in  her  cold  blue  eyes ;  she 
opened  her  lips,  then  checked  herself.  It  was 
an  instinct  with  Eva  Hargraves  to  save  the 
situation. 

She  smiled  again  toward  her  visitor. 

"  Mollie,"  she  said  suavely,  "  is  eminently  a 
careful  little  person.  I  can  hardly  get  her  to 
touch  these  cups;  I  believe  she  is  frightened 
of  breaking  them." 

"Dear  me!"  said  the  visitor;  "how  queer 
for  a  child  to  think  of  that !  " 

"  Mollie  is  certainly  unusual,"  said  Mollie's 
mother,  easily. 

Then  the  little  girl  slipped  into  a  corner  and 
only  came  out,  as  frightened  as  a  mouse,  when 
the  lady  took  her  leave. 


THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE  31 

As  the  door  closed,  Mrs.  Hargraves  sank  into 
her  chair  and  turned  toward  the  child. 

"  Mollie,"  she  said,  "  come  here." 

The  culprit  advanced.  She  was  looking  into 
her  mother's  face  with  a  glance  of  fascinated 
dread ;  her  movement  was  as  the  action  of  a 
rabbit  fascinated  by  a  serpent.  Only  while  the 
poor  animal  stands  motionless  to  meet  his 
doom,  Mollie  came  reluctantly  forward. 

When  she  was  close  by  the  tea-table,  mamma 
spoke. 

"  Do  you  know,"  and  the  words  fell  in  the 
slow  cold  voice  as  the  dropping  of  icy  water, 
"  that  lady  said  you  were  a  very  queer  little 
girl?" 

"  Yes,"  quavered  the  child. 

"Claude  could  say,  'How  do  you  do?'  I 
had  not  to  tell  him,  and  he  is  ever  so  much 
younger  than  you  are ;  and  though  he  is  al- 
most a  baby,  he  tries  to ,  help  me.  What  did 
you  do?" 

Mollie  turned  her  head  helplessly  toward  the 
stain  on  the  carpet.  Oh,  mamma,  mamma !  if 
only  you  would  understand ! 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  people  will  say?" 
Mrs.  Hargraves  continued:  "  they  will  say  I  am 


32 

a  very  queer  mamma  if  I  can't  teach  my  little 
girl  to  behave  properly." 

"  No,"  gasped  the  child. 

"  That  is  what  they  will  say,"  determined 
Mrs.  Hargraves. 

Mollie  thought  about  that  for  a  moment. 
How  could  people  call  mamma  naughty  because 
she  had  not  done  as  she  was  told !  Oh,  how 
bad  a  little  girl  she  must  be ! 

"  No,"  she  reiterated. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Mrs.  Hargraves. 

There  was  a  pause,  —  that  pause  of  stillness 
before  the  bursting  of  a  storm,  —  and  then 
Mollie's  sobs  sounded  through  the  room. 

"  What  are  you  crying  for?  "  demanded  Mrs. 
Hargraves.  She  did  not  like  to  see  tears  unless 
she  set  the  example.  "  I  might  have  whipped 
you  to  hear  you  cry  like  that.  There  is  nothing 
to  cry  about.  If  you  had  been  a  good  Jittle 
girl,  I  should  not  have  scolded  you ;  it 's  all 
your  own  fault.  What  — "  as  Mollie's  tears 
continued  to  flow  as  fast  as  ever  —  "  what  a 
baby  you  are !  a  far  bigger  baby  than  Claude  ! 
He  never  cries  unless  he  is  hurt,  and  even  then 
he  's  a  brave  little  man,  is  n't  he  ? "  and  mamma 
drew  him  nearer  to  her  and  popped  a  tiny  sugar 
biscuit  into  his  mouth. 


THE   STORY  OF  MOLLIE  33 

But  Mollie's  sobs  continued.  She  tried  to 
press  them  back ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  if  they 
did  not  come  out  of  her  mouth,  they  would 
force  themselves  right  through  the  bodice  of 
her  frock. 

"  Mollie,"  decreed  mamma,  looking  up  again, 
"  if  you  will  make  that  noise,  you  must  go 
upstairs." 

The  child  turned  away.  She  was  bewildered 
with  her  own  naughtiness.  She  crept  up  to  the 
nursery ;  the  room  was  empty.  Only  Josephine 
still  sat  where  she  had  left  her  upon  the  window- 
seat.  Mollie  went  up  to  her;  she  took  the  doll 
into  her  arms;  she  kissed  the  battered  face 
again  and  again ;  the  tears  streamed  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  Oh,  Josephine,"  she  sobbed,  in  what  with 
an  older  person  would  have  been  called  a  passion 
of  pain,  "  oh,  Josephine,  they  will  say  mamma 
is  naughty;  and  I  could  n't!  I  could  n't!  " 

She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

After  a  time  she  was  too  exhausted  to  weep 
any  more,  and  then  something  else  presented 
itself  for  consideration.  She  had  been  told  not 
to  cry. 

"Josephine,"  she  whispered,  "that's  naughty, 
3 


34  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

too.  Little  girls  ought  never  to  cry  unless  they 
are  hurt.  If  they  cut  their  fingers  or  knock 
their  heads.  Only  — "  with  a  long  sigh  — 
"  only  then,  Josephine,  —  only —  "  catching  her 
breath —  "  only  then." 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  following  afternoon  Mollie  knew  that  she 
and  Claude  were  expected  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  she  also  thought  that  mamma  must 
be  going  to  have  a  great  many  ladies  and 
gentlemen  to  drink  tea  out  of  the  pink  cups, 
and  use  the  spoons  with  the  little  men  at  the 
end  of  their  handles,  which  was  Mollie's  way 
of  describing  one  of  her  mother's  "  At  Homes," 
—  for  nurse  was  getting  ready  her  best  muslin 
frock,  and  Claude's  blue  velvet  dress,  and  his 
new  lace  collar  had  been  taken  out  of  the  tissue 
paper  in  the  big  box.  And  after  nurse  had 
twisted  her  hair  into  two  rows  of  curls  instead 
of  the  one  which  usually  made  her  head  ache, 
the  little  girl  was  quite  sure;  but  when  she 
ventured  to  ask  about  it,  nurse  merely  replied 
that  Mr.  Gerard  had  arrived  at  Rookwood  the 
night  before,  and  was  expected  at  the  Dower 
House  that  afternoon. 


36  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"Mr.  Hargraves,  as  he  is  now,"  amended  the 
woman. 

"Does  he  know  that  God  took  Great-uncle 
George  as  he  took  papa  ? "  inquired  the 
child. 

"That  is  why  Mr.  Gerard  has  come  home," 
nurse  informed  her. 

"Is  that  why  I  am  having  out  the  frock 
with  the  daisies  and  my  best  sash?  "  continued 
Mollie,  who  always  took  full  advantage  of 
nurse's  communicative  moods,  and  enjoyed 
them  exceedingly. 

"Your  cousin  is  the  heir." 

"What's 'heir'?" 

"Oh,  dear!    The  place  belongs  to  him." 

"Place?"  ventured  Mollie. 

"  Rookwood  Hall  —  this  house  —  all  around. " 

"  Our  house !  Josephine  belongs  to  me, 
doesn't  she?"  and  Mollie  supplied  the  illus- 
tration to  make  sure  that  she  understood. 

"  Yes, "  said  nurse ;  "  Rookwood  and  the  estate 
belong  to  your  cousin  as  Josephine  belongs  to 
you." 

"This  house,"  repeated  the  child. 

"I  said  so." 

"  Our  house, "  insisted  Mollie.     "  But  mamma 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  37 

lives  here.     He  won't  take  it  from  mamma? 
He'll  like  to  give  it  to  her." 

"Very  like,"  acquiesced  nurse;  and  there 
was  an  expression  on  the  woman's  face  which 
it  was  as  well  Mollie  did  not  understand. 

About  an  hour  later  the  children  went  down 
to  the  drawing-room.  But  as  soon  as  the  door 
was  opened,  Claude  again  broke  away  from 
Mollie.  He  had,  perhaps,  found  the  experi- 
ment so  successful  the  day  before  that  his  baby 
brain  remembered  to  repeat  it.  With  a  little 
chuckle  he  toddled  across  the  floor  and  buried 
his  head  in  the  folds  of  mamma's  black  skirt. 

"  He  is  always  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  to 
me,"  murmured  Mrs.  Hargraves  to  the  tall 
man  standing  by  the  window;  "he  is  so  fond 
of  me,  and  he  can't  see  why  he  should  not 
show  it,  poor  little  man." 

"He  assuredly  has  his  excuse,"  said  Gerard 
Hargraves. 

"  He  's  my  boy,"  returned  the  widow. 

"Yes;  I  see  he  is  his  mother's  son,"  com- 
mented Mr.  Hargraves,  with  an  accent  which 
brought  a  resentful  gleam  into  the  eyes  bent 
upon  Claude. 


38  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Mr.  Hargraves  twisted  his  mustache  thought- 
fully as  he  contemplated  the  group  by  the  tea- 
table.  It  was  so  effective  that  he  felt  inclined 
to  think  it  rehearsed.  He  had  always  credited 
Eva  with  the  theatrical  instinct.  Some  men 
never  suspected  a  pose  in  a  pretty  woman. 
His  cousin  George  certainly  never  had,  or  he 
would  not  have  married  Eva  Cornell;  but 
Gerard  himself  was  not  so  trustful,  or  —  was 
he  more  experienced? 

He  turned  away  with  an  air  which  invested 
the  movement  with  significance.  He  glanced 
indifferently  around  the  room ;  it  was  so  dainty, 
so  reposeful,  in  some  ways  so  shallow,  —  so,  in 
fact,  as  he  concluded,  so  like  Eva.  At  length, 
when  his  gaze  travelled  in  the  direction  of  the 
door,  it  rested  upon  a  wistful,  undecided  little 
girl  looking  toward  his  cousin's  widow. 

There  certainly  was  nothing  studied  about 
the  pose  of  that  child. 

He  got  up  quickly.  The  awkward  little 
figure  refreshed  him  as  a  breath  of  cool  air 
refreshes  one  who  leaves  the  hot  atmosphere 
of  a  crowded  hall. 

"Well,  little  woman,"  he  began. 

The  child  lifted  her  eyes  timidly.     Then  a 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  39 

world    of    wonder    and    surprise    dawned    in 
them. 

"Are  you,"  said  Mollie,  in  an  awe-stricken 
voice,  — "  are  you  papa  come  back  from 
heaven? " 

Gerard  Hargraves  looked  down  at  the  child. 
He  was  well  aware  that  his  resemblance  to  his 
late  cousin  was  striking.  In  the  old  days  — 
those  good  old  days !  —  and  Gerard  shot  a  glance 
which  was  not  wholly  friendly  toward  the  fair- 
haired  woman  opposite,  how  merry  they  used 
to  make  over  the  fact !  But,  then,  that  was 
when  they  were  younger.  Time,  and  many 
things  besides  time,  as  Gerard  knew  all  too 
well,  had  left  their  traces  on  his  face. 

But  the  child  saw  nothing  of  that ;  she  only 
saw  his  features  as  they  were  designed  to  be. 
Gerard  drew  a  long  breath  as  he  recognized 
this.  It  was  as  a  respite.  Dear  little  child ! 

He  put  out  his  hand. 

"  Little  one,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  Mollie  close 
to  him,  "I  'm  not  papa,  but  I  'm  his  cousin." 

Gerard  Hargraves  spoke  in  his  most  caress- 
ing voice.  People  said  it  was  that  voice,  when 
he  chose  to  exert  it,  which  did  all  the  mis- 
chief; but  Mollie's  little  .face  only  grew  blank. 


40  THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

"I  thought  you  were  papa,"  she  said,  with  a 
lingering  accent. 

"  Can  you  really  remember  him  ?  "  questioned 
Mr.  Hargraves,  for  Mollie  had  been  fatherless 
for  nearly  two  years. 

Something  invited  that  very  unusual  thing, 
—  Mollie's  confidence.  She  slipped  her  hand 
into  his. 

"He  's  in  the  dining-room,  you  know.  I  've 
been  to  see  him  so  often  all  by  myself,  and  I 
did  ask  God  ever  so  hard  if  He  would  mind  if 
papa  came  back  for  a  little.  He  used  to  ride 
me  on  his  shoulder.  It  was  "  —  wistfully  — 
"so  nice." 

Gerard  felt  something  unusual  tugging  at  his 
heart.  He  tightened  his  grasp  of  the  child's 
hand,  and  led  her  to  his  chair. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  asked  a  question,  and  he 
answered  at  random.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
child.  So  she  missed  her  father,  actually 
longed  for  him.  Gerard  had  missed  his  cousin, 
had  longed  for  him,  for  they  had  been  closer 
than  brothers ;  but  that  longing  and  that  loss 
had  begun  more  than  two  years  ago.  He  won- 
dered if  Mollie,  who  was  a  plain  edition  of  her 
father,  would  like  to  come  onto  his  knee. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  41 

He  gave  the  invitation,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  the  little  girl's  head  was  resting  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Papa  has  gone  to  heaven,  you  know,"  the 
child  began,  after  a  short  pause;  "it's  a  long 
way,  ever  —  " 

"  Mollie,"  —  the  word  broke  from  mamma,  — 
"how  can  you?  One  would  think  I  was  not 
kind  to  you  to  hear  you  talk." 

The  little  arms  clutched  at  Gerard's  coat; 
the  little  figure  quivered  in  his  grasp. 

"I  mustn't,"  Mollie  whispered,  and  it 
seemed  to  the  man  that  those  dark  eyes  ap- 
pealed to  him  for  help,  — "I  mustn't." 

The  white  face  grew  still  more  white. 

"It's  being  naughty,"  the  child  continued, 
as  though  she  were  striving  to  keep  the  true 
view  of  the  case  before  her,  —  "it's  being 
naughty  for  little  girls.  Mamma  said  so 
yesterday." 

Yet  mamma  was  crying !  Mamma's  face  was 
buried  in  her  lace  handkerchief.  This,  then, 
was  another  of  those  things  which  grown-up 
people  might  sometimes  permit  themselves  and 
not  little  children.  Oh,  how  easy  it  must  be 
to  be  grown  up ! 


42          THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

At  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  Claude  put 
up  his  hand  and  tried  to  stroke  his  mother's 
pink-and-white  cheek. 

"Pitty  mamma,"  he  lisped;  "naughty, 
naughty  Mollie!" 

Mollie  did  not  move.  She  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  on  her  new  friend.  She  was  such  a  hard- 
hearted child,  Mrs.  Hargraves  afterward  ex- 
plained to  nurse.  Even  a  baby  like  Claude 
knew  how  unnatural  it  was —  But  Mr.  Har- 
graves scarcely  viewed  the  matter  in  that  way. 
He  gathered  the  child  into  his  arms.  His 
mind  travelled  back  to  that  night  when  he  and 
George  had  lain  out  under  the  cold  September 
sky,  benighted,  befogged,  on  a  bleak  Scotch 
moor.  They  had  clung  to  each  other  then  with 
that  silent  clinging  of  man  to  man,  and  now 
George's  child,  in  the  very  first  hour  of  their 
acquaintance,  had  appealed  to  him  for  help. 
He  determined  that  she  should  not  ask  in  vain. 

"Come,"  he  whispered;  "mamma  will  not 
want  us  now;"  and  before  the  child  knew 
where  she  was,  Gerard  had  lifted  her  through 
the  French  window,  and  was  standing  by  her 
side  on  the  gravel. 

But,  as  he  walked  about  the  garden,  not  a 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  43 

smile  could  he  win  from  the  little  girl.  He 
exerted  himself  to  the  utmost;  he  did  every- 
thing except  notice  the  timid  pulls  at  his  hand 
each  time  they  came  within  sight  of  the  draw- 
ing-room windows.  But,  charm  he  never  so 
wisely,  what  was  the  use  of  his  proficiency 
in  the  art  if  the  adder  were  deaf?  Mollie's 
thoughts  were  evidently  elsewhere.  The  irony 
of  the  situation  brought  a  peculiar  smile  to 
Mr.  Hargraves'  lips.  He  was  not  accustomed 
to  failure.  It  spurred  him. 

He  told  Mollie  wonderful  stories.  She 
should  come  to  be  content  with  him.  Besides, 
he  was  sure  that  to  send  her  back  to  Eva  would 
be  little  less  than  cruel.  Mrs.  Hargraves  un- 
doubtedly considered  herself  injured,  and  would 
be  at  some  pains  to  make  that  clear  to  the 
offender. 

At  last  he  bethought  himself  of  a  device. 

"Take  me  to  see  papa's  picture,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

He  felt  the  involuntary  movement  of  Mollie's 
hand.  He  had  never  believed  much  in  heart- 
ache. With  his  own  sex,  it  meant  the  pretext 
for  a  little  extra  dissipation,  or  for  employing 
cartridges  in  the  most  inaccessible  quarter  of 


44  THE   STORY   OF  MOLLIE 

the  globe;  with  women  a  few  new  jewels,  a 
larger  bill  at  the  milliner's,  an  extra  month  at 
Brighton.  But  he  was  convinced  that  this 
child  could  surfer. 

"  Good  God ! "  he  ejaculated,  as  he  noticed 
the  endurance,  the  reserve,  which  seemed  so 
like  familiarity  with  pain. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  he  demanded  abruptly. 

Mollie  knew  that.  He  repeated  the  figure. 
A  quick,  rushing  sense  of  the  incomprehensi- 
bleness  of  human  life  made  him  lift  the  child 
into  his  arms. 

He  thrust  out  his  lower  lip,  caught  his  mus- 
tache, and  bit  it;  he'd  paid  his  price,  struck 
his  bargain,  and  if  suffering  came  to  him,  it 
was  his  due.  But  what  had  this  little  thing 
done  that  she  should  be  tortured? 

"Come,"  he  said;  and  it  was  not  until  they 
were  in  the  dining-room  that  he  set  Mollie  on 
her  feet  again. 

She  led  him  to  the  far  end  of  the  room. 
They  stood  hand  in  hand.  Even  in  the  pic- 
ture the  resemblance  between  Gerard  and  his 
cousin  was  striking.  The  child  looked  from 
the  living  face  to  the  one  on  the  canvas. 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  "you  had  come  back." 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  45 

Gerard  was  indescribably  touched.  She  was 
George's  daughter;  and  did  death  sever  the 
friendship  of  Jonathan  and  David? 

The  old  feeling  flowed  again;  but  it  took 
form  with  regard  to  the  child.  Once  more 
Gerard  took  her  into  his  arms.  He  laid  his 
cheek  close  to  hers. 

"It  feels  like  papa's,"  said  the  child,  and 
her  fingers  lingered  upon  Mr.  Hargraves' 
face. 

"Little  one,"  he  murmured.  He  forgot  to 
think  about  the  ridiculous  side  of  his  being 
pleased  that  Mollie  should  notice  that  his  cheek 
was  shaven  as  her  father's  had  been. 

"  I  can't  be  your  little  girl,  can  I  ?  "  whis- 
pered Mollie. 

It  was  the  echo  of  his  own  heart. 

"I  wish  you  could,"  he  answered. 

He  felt  a  tear  trickle  onto  his  face.  The 
little  thing  was  actually  crying. 

He  remembered  that  he  never  could  bear  to 
see  a  woman  cry.  Most  men  could  not;  not 
even  —  and  again  his  teeth  closed  on  his  mus- 
tache—  when  they  were  pretty  sure  they  were 
being  made  fools  of.  But  Mollie  knew  noth- 
ing about  that  process. 


46  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

For  one  instant  he  reflected  that  she  was 
Eva's  child;  but  only  for  one  instant. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  hastily,  "you  need  not 
mind  that.  We  '11  do  lots  of  things  together, 
just  as  though  you  were  my  little  girl." 

But  Mollie's  head  only  moved  in  a  slow 
dissent. 

"Nursie  before  this  nursie  went  away,"  she 
said  mournfully,  "and  she  can't  come  back 
and  tuck  me  up  'cause  I  'm  not  her  little  girl. 
She  said  so." 

Gerard  was  nonplussed.  He  did  not  know 
how  to  satisfy  the  child.  It  partly  amused 
him,  partly  angered  him,  to  find  that  simplicity 
recjuced  him  to  worse  straits  than  guile. 

"Look  here,"  he  exclaimed,  speaking,  per- 
haps, with  unconscious  reference  to  past  experi- 
ences,—  "I'll  tell  you  what.  You  must  be 
very  quick  and  grow  up,  and  then  you  shall 
be  my  wife." 

The  child  lifted  her  tear-stained  face. 

"Mamma  was  papa's  wife,"  she  inquired,  as 
though  to  make  sure  what  was  being  offered  to 
her. 

"Yes,"  said  Gerard. 

The  light  dawned  on  the  little  face. 


THE  STORY  OF  MOLLIE  47 

"  You  will  have  to  stay  with  me  always,  then, " 
he  added. 

Mollie's  arms  stole  round  his  neck.  He 
held  her  a  moment.  The  next  minute  he  put 
her  down  and  hastily  turned  to  the  window. 

The  child  made  him  think;  and  he  never 
thought  —  on  principle.  It  was  a  little  before 
he  could  jeer  at  himself  for  a  fool.  He  came 
back  to  Mollie.  The  child  was  waiting.  She 
met  his  glance  timidly;  he  saw  that  she  was 
uncertain  whether  she  had  been  repulsed  or 
no.  She  should  not  think  that. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "you  must  hurry  and  grow 
big.  That's  a  bargain." 

The  light  shone  in  Mollie's  eyes. 

"I'll  try,  oh,  I  will  try  to  be  like  other 
little  girls ! "  she  assured  him,  as  they  stepped 
out  onto  the  lawn,  hand  in  hand. 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  very  quickly  came  to  be  an  established  fact 
in  Mollie's  mind  that  as  soon  as  she  was  grown 
up  she  was  to  be  Gerard's  wife. 

She  spent  much  time  in  endeavoring  to  hasten 
that  most  desirable  end.  She  sat  very  straight 
and  almost  always  in  a  high-backed  chair  ;  she 
lay  on  her  back  in  her  cot  with  her  arms  pressed 
to  her  sides  that  she  might  grow  more  quickly. 
She  went  farther,  and  this  time  for  a  more  subtle 
end,  —  she  relinquished  her  favorite  pillow,  for 
pillows,  nurse  decreed,  made  little  girls  round- 
shouldered,  and  they  did  not  grow  up  "  beautiful 
figures,"  like  Mollie's  mamma. 

The  child  knew  that  it  was  Claude,  not  she, 
who  would  grow  up  like  mamma ;  but  she  had 
an  idea  that  she  ought  to  do  her  best  toward 
reaching  this  impossible  goal  for  Gerard's  sake. 

She  told  Josephine  again  and  again  about  this 
wonderful  new  cousin;  she  harassed  nurse's 
mind  with  many  questions  relative  to  the  state 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  49 

of  matrimony.  Not  that  Mollie  knew  anything 
about  the  word  in  its  accepted  sense.  Nurse 
had  her  good  points,  and  an  appreciation  of 
the  innocence  of  childhood  was  one  of  them. 
No  nursery  prattle  of  sweethearts  had  spoiled 
Mollie's  freshness.  She,  in  a  way,  understood 
that  Gerard  liked  her  better  than  Claude,  —  bet- 
ter, impossible  as  it  might  seem,  than  mamma ; 
and  she  poured  out  her  heart  on  him,  but  just 
as  she  would  have  done  on  her  father  had  he 
lived,  as  she  would  have  done  on  her  mother 
had  Mrs.  Hargraves  ever  afforded  her  the 
opportunity. 

Still  Mollie  said  little  about  what  was  in  store 
for  her.  Gerard  had  once  let  fall  a  word  before 
mamma  in  her  presence,  and  mamma  replied, 
"  How  absurd  you  are,  Gerard !  "  and  when  he 
had  asked  in  that  funny  voice  in  which  he  some- 
times spoke  to  mamma,  "How  so?"  mamma 
had  said  "  Absurd  "  again.  So  Mollie  was  very 
quiet.  There  was  no  intention  of  concealment; 
she  was  not  aware  that  there  was  anything  to 
conceal.  It  was  mostly  that  she  remembered 
that  mamma  had  used  the  same  expression  the 
time  when  papa  carried  her  in  his  arms  nearly 
the  whole  night  through. 
4 


50          THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

She  had  not  been  ill  then,  because  no  one  had 
asked  her  to  take  any  medicine.  She  had  only 
been  so  hot,  and  the  bed  was  so  hard,  and  "  Mr. 
Sleepy-Mouse  "  could  n't  come.  Those  long 
hours  and  the  arms  which  had  borne  her,  as 
the  tall  man  paced  to  and  fro,  came  back  to 
Mollie  as  often  as  she  thought  of  her  father. 
And  with  it  came  another  thought,  —  an  instinct, 
rather,  —  she  had  gathered  that  her  father  had 
been  shy  about  speaking  of  his  vigil.  So  Mollie 
was  shy  about  speaking  of  her  happiness,  guided 
to  that  attitude  by  mamma's  use  of  that  term 
"absurd." 

Winter  had  been  and  gone,  spring  had  been 
and  gone,  summer  had  come,  the  haymaking 
was  over,  and  now,  since  Mollie  was  learn- 
ing the  months  of  the  year,  she  knew  it  was 
August. 

The  corn  was  turning  to  a  full  yellow,  the 
poppies  looked  like  red  islands  in  a  sea  of  gold, 
the  plums  were  ripe  and  had  covered  themselves 
with  what  the  gardener  called  "  bloom,"  in  order, 
Mollie  supposed,  that  the  important  functionary 
might  know  when  unauthorized  little  fingers 
pinched  them  to  see  if  they  were  soft. 

But  Mollie  only  half  enjoyed  the  sunshine,  the 


THE   STORY  OF  MOLLIE  51 

flowers,  and  the  birds.  Gerard  had  been  away 
such  a  long  time. 

The  day  before  he  left,  he  had  shown  her  a 
blackbird's  nest  in  the  hedge  by  the  beech  walk, 
and  had  lifted  her  up  that  she  might  see  the  blue 
eggs  lying  in  their  brown  nest.  He  had  told 
her  that  there  would  belittle  birds  in  there  soon, 
but  that  she  must  not  touch  the  nest,  because 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blackbird  would  not  like  it.  Mollie 
had  gone  nearly  every  day  since  to  stand  near  and 
wonder  when  Gerard  would  come  back  and  lift 
her  up  again,  that  she  might  see  the  little  baby 
birds  she  could  just  hear  chirruping.  When  it 
rained,  she  wondered  if  the  blackbirds  were  very 
cold ;  when  the  sun  shone,  she  wondered  if  its 
warmth  was  as  pleasant  to  them  as  to  her.  But 
lately  that  nest  had  been  deserted.  Why  was  that  ? 
It  was  one  of  the  many  questions  with  which 
Mollie  stored  her  mind  against  Gerard's  return. 

Gerard  was  such  a  satisfactory  person  to 
question.  He  never  was  too  busy  or  hinted 
that  it  would  be  time  to  inquire  into  this  or  that 
when  she  was  grown  up.  He  gave  his  answer 
then  and  there.  He  even  set  her  theological 
doubts  at  rest,  though  possibly  his  answers  might 
not  have  satisfied  a  Council  of  Trent.  She  was 


52          THE   STORY   OF  MOLLIE 

thinking  now  of  two  or  three  knotty  points  on 
which  she  wished  to  consult  him;  for  Mollie 
was  not  prone  to  take  things  for  granted,  and 
the  Sacred  Writ  presented  many  difficulties. 

There  was  — 

"  Mollie !  will  you  do  your  sum  ?  " 

Miss  Fraser's  voice  broke  up  the  little  girl's 
revery.  For  the  last  two  months  Miss  Fraser, 
from  the  vicarage,  had  come  every  morning  to 
give  Mollie  lessons  instead  of  her  having  them 
with  nurse. 

As  a  rule,  the  child  submitted  cheerfully 
enough.  Lessons,  Miss  Fraser  assured  her, 
were  the  royal  road  to  growing  up.  But  from 
time  to  time  Mollie  was  tempted  to  inquire  if 
the  course  of  necessity  included  "adding  sums" 
and  "twice  times,"  she  so  particularly  detested 
them. 

She  looked  down  on  her  slate  now.  Before 
her  was  a  tangle  of  ill-formed  figures,  which 
refused  to  come  like  the  answer  at  the  end  of 
the  arithmetic  book. 

Miss  Fraser  leaned  forward  and  took  the 
slate,  while  Mollie  wondered  once  more  if 
there  were  more  bones  —  they  were  bones ; 
Gerard  had  once  said  so  —  in  Miss  Fraser's 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  53 

hand  than  in  other  people's.     She  seemed  to 
see  so  many  more. 

"You  had  better  begin  all  over  again,"  said 
Miss  Eraser,  as  she  surveyed  the  smeared  and 
crooked  addition  sum;  and  when  the  slate  was 
handed  back,  the  three  columns  of  figures  were 
neatly  set  down,  and  Mollie's  attempts  effaced. 

The  clock  chimed  out  twelve  long  strokes. 
Mollie's  pencil  fell,  she  raised  her  head. 

"You  must  finish  that  first,"  decreed  Miss 
Eraser. 

The  child  looked  at  her  with  imploring  eyes. 

"Please  let  me  go,"  she  ventured. 

But  Miss  Eraser  was  eminently  a  disciplina- 
rian. Mollie  had  been  idle,  Mollie  had  been 
inattentive;  she  must  pay  the  penalty. 

This  was  set  before  the  child. 

The  tears  brimmed  over  the  big  brown  eyes. 

"Come!"  said  Miss  Eraser,  "crying will  not 
do  any  good.  You  have  been  very  inattentive 
all  the  morning.  Be  quick  now. " 

But  the  tears  rolled  faster  down  the  little 
cheeks;  great  round  drops  fell  on  the  slate; 
Mollie  absently  dabbed  her  fingers  into  them, 
spreading  the  wet  lines  from  one  side  of  the 
frame  to  the  other. 


54          THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

"See,"  remonstrated  Miss  Fraser,  "you  are 
rubbing  out  the  figures,  and  I  wrote  them  so 
nicely  for  you  not  a  moment  ago.  Come  —  " 

Once  more  Mollie  made  her  appeal.  She 
would  be  so  good  to-morrow,  —  this  once,  only 
this  once;  would  not  Miss  Fraser  let  her  go? 
But  Miss  Fraser  was  obdurate. 

"You  have  wasted  all  the  morning,"  shfe 
adjudged.  "You  must  stay  in  and  do  your 
lessons  now." 

The  charge  was  true.  Mollie  knew  she  had 
not  been  thinking  about  her  sums.  She  was 
afraid,  too,  that  she  did  not  remember  one  word 
of  the  morning  chapter  out  of  the  "  Peep  of  Day. " 

But  she  must  go  out.  She  must!  Mollie 
thought  of  the  high  gate  leading  out  of  the 
drive,  of  the  little  chink  through  which  she 
always  watched  for  Gerard. 

He  came  back  to  Rookwood  last  night. 
Mollie  knew  that  because  she  had  heard  Martha 
telling  nurse  that  James,  the  Rookwood  foot- 
man, who  was  that  mysterious  appendage,  "her 
young  man,"  had  said  that  the  "master"  had 
come  down  again. 

Mollie  had  watched  by  that  gate  day  after 
day,  feeling  as  though  Gerard  must  come  up  to 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  55 

it,  because  she  missed  him  so;  and  now,  when 
he  might  lift  the  latch  at  any  moment,  she  was 
not  to  be  there  waiting  for  him. 

Something  seemed  to  choke  the  little  girl. 

"I  will  go!"  she  cried,  she  clamored;  "I 
will  go,  I  shall !  "  She  pushed  back  her  chair; 
she  swept  her  slate  off  the  table ;  she  heard  it 
crack ;  she  was  not  a  bit  sorry,  —  nay !  she  was 
glad! 

"  I  will  go ! "  she  screamed;  "  I  will ! " 

It  was  not  until  nearly  half  an  hour  later  that 
Mollie  could  be  brought  to  recognize  that  she 
had  been  in  one  of  her  naughty  tempers. 

When  she  was  calm  enough  to  admit  this, 
Miss  Eraser  was  standing  before  her,  the  table- 
cloth was  half  off  the  table,  her  chair  was  over- 
turned, and,  worst  of  all,  the  slate  lay  on  the 
floor,  cracked  from  end  to  end. 

"Mollie,"  said  Miss  Eraser,  as  she  went  back 
to  her  seat,  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  too 
naughty  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  but  I  am 
ashamed  and  shocked  to  think  that  any  little 
girl  could  behave  so  badly. " 

The  child  was  exhausted.  She  lifted  a  tear- 
stained  face.  She  had  no  excuse;  not  one. 

Suddenly  there  came  the  quick  opening  and 


56  THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

shutting  of  the  door  leading  to  the  nursery, 
and  a  sharp,  firm  step  on  the  landing.  The 
color  flooded  Mollie's  cheeks. 

"Gerard,"  she  whispered. 

"You  cannot  want  —  "  began  Miss  Fraser, 
but  the  door  was  flung  open,  interrupting  her. 

"  Little  woman !  "  exclaimed  Gerard  Har- 
graves,  "why  didn't  you  come  down  the  drive 
to  look  for  me?  Had  no  one  told  you  I  was 
back?  You  had  n't  forgotten  me,  had  you?  " 

Forgotten  him!  Mollie  sprang  toward  him. 
As  he  bent,  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck; 
she  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  Forgotten 
him! 

The  very  quietness  of  the  greeting,  since  he 
was  wise  enough  to  know  that  it  was  still  from 
intensity,  touched  Mr.  Hargraves.  How  fond 
of  him  this  little  thing  must  be!  It  was  nice 
of  her.  It  gratified  him.  It  did  not  occur  to 
him  to  consider  what  might  be  the  outcome  of 
it  to  her.  If  a  time  of  change  and  disillusion 
arrived,  it  would  be  enough  to  say  that  he  had 
not  thought.  That  is  always  such  a  man's 
excuse.  The  failing  is  its  own  justification. 
Thoughtlessness  is  a  useful  robe,  which  amply 
covers  a  large  collection  of  sins. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  57 

"Mollie  has  been  such  a  naughty  little  girl," 
interposed  Miss  Eraser. 

The  child  unfolded  her  arms.  She  slipped 
off  her  cousin's  knee. 

"I  have,  awful,"  she  said,  standing  before 
him  as  she  might  before  a  judge. 

Gerard  looked  past  the  child  to  her  governess. 
He  was  annoyed  that  Mollie's  delinquencies 
should  be  thrust  in  front  of  him  before  he  had 
been  in  the  room  ten  minutes.  It  savored, 
too,  of  tale-telling;  and  Gerard  had  preserved 
a  single  idea  on  that  subject  ever  since  he 
received  his  first  caning  —  an  unmerited  one 
—  to  impress  it  upon  his  mind. 

Besides,  he  was  very  ready  to  find  cause  of 
offence  in  Miss  Eraser.  There  was  a  distinct 
antagonism  between  the  vicarage  and  the 
present  owner  of  Rookwood.  In  the  old  days, 
when  Gerard  had  perpetually  trembled  on  the 
brink  of  his  uncle's  displeasure,  Mr.  Eraser 
had  branded  him  as  "  a  fast  young  man  "  (he 
thought  so  still),  and  had  not  hesitated  to 
proclaim  this  opinion  in  the  quarter  where  it 
might  have  the  most  serious  results. 

Gerard  did  not  forget  that  now. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  and  he  addressed  the 


58  THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

vicar's  daughter,  "naughtiness  is  only  a  ques- 
tion of  looks  and  opportunity  with  a  woman, 
isn't  it?" 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Hargraves," 
returned  Miss  Eraser,  and  she  drew  herself  a 
little  farther  back  in  her  chair. 

Gerard  smiled,  and  twisted  the  ends  of  his 
mustache. 

"Ah!"  he  rejoined,  "then  that  is  one  of  the 
things  to  which  you  will  not  own.  But  I  "  — 
letting  his  eyes  rest  on  her  with  a  certain  inso- 
lence in  their  challenge  —  "have been  told  that 
a  woman  confesses  to  more  by  what  she  denies 
than  by  what  she  proclaims." 

Miss  Eraser's  dull  gray  eyes  emitted  a  spark; 
the  lips  were  drawn  into  a  tight  line.  It  was 
evident  that,  however  limited  might  be  her 
power  of  retort,  her  indignation  was  not. 

"What,"  resumed  Mr.  Hargraves,  and  he 
turned  to  Mollie  with  quite  another  note  in 
his  voice, — "what  was  it,  little  one?" 

"I  have  been  so  naughty,"  reiterated  Mollie. 

"But  it  is  over  now,"  suggested  Mr.  Har- 
graves. "Come  and  talk  to  me." 

"Mollie  must  finish  her  sum  first,"  decreed 
Miss  Eraser. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  59 

Gerard  bit  his  lip.  He  wanted  the  child  to 
himself.  He  wanted  to  take  her  out,  and  he 
did  not  want  "this  sour  old  woman,"  as  he  was 
ill-natured  enough  to  label  Miss  Fraser. 

For  once  he  tried  persuasion. 

"I  have  only  just  come  home,  you  know," 
he  said. 

"  I  cannot  let  Mollie  go  until  she  has  finished 
her  sum,"  Miss  Fraser  returned,  and  she  folded 
her  hands  upon  her  drab  skirt  with  an  air  of 
finality. 

"Then  we  shall  have  to  stay  here,  little 
one,"  Mr.  Hargraves  answered,  and  he  put 
the  child  back  on  his  knee. 

Mollie  looked  at  her  cousin.  Her  conscience 
would  not  let  her  off  in  this  easy  fashion.  Her 
eyes  grew  moist ;  her  cheeks  burned. 

"I  have  been  in  a  naughty  temper,"  she  con- 
fessed. "  Look,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  broken 
slate;  "I  did  that,  "cause"  —  with  the  lump 
growing  in  her  throat  —  "I  was  in  a  naughty 
temper." 

It  was  Gerard's  impulse  to  receive  the  con- 
fession as  it  was  made;  but  unfortunately  Miss 
Fraser' s  glance  was  on  him,  and  there  was  an 
expectancy  on  her  face  which,  as  Gerard  said 


60  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

to  himself,  it  would  not  have  been  Gerard 
Hargraves  had  he  disappointed. 

"Very  naughty,  and  therefore  so  human, 
Mollie,"  he  answered  flippantly.  "We  most 
of  us  end  by  breaking  our  playthings,  but  we 
learned  first  how  very  easily  the  useful  articles 
would  crack  and  chip.  You  are  naughty,  per- 
haps, but  nice,  and  you  can't  claim  to  be 
unique  in  that  respect.  Be  thankful.  Super- 
fine goodness  may  be  profitable,  but  I  have 
never  found  it  alluring." 

"Mollie,"  commanded  Miss  Fraser,  "get  off 
your  cousin's  knee  and  finish  your  sum." 

The  child  slipped  down.  She  went  toward 
the  table.  She  stooped  and  picked  up  the 
slate,  but  one  of  the  cracked  pieces  fell  away 
from  the  frame.  It  held  about  half  the  figures. 
Silently  the  child  picked  up  the  fragment;  she 
endeavored  to  fit  it  in  again.  She  could  not. 
She  directed  an  imploring  glance  toward  Miss 
Fraser,  but  that  lady  was  too  conscious  of 
Gerard  Hargraves'  presence.  She  maintained 
an  unmoved  appearance. 

A  suppressed  exclamation  struggled  through 
the  man's  lips.  He  rose.  He  flung  a  bitter 
look  at  the  angular  figure  in  the  straight  chair. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  61 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  proposed,  as  he 
came  toward  the  table,  "let  us  do  that  sum 
together,  Mollie." 

The  child  responded  with  a  long  sigh. 

"  Oh ! "  she  murmured,  as  though  her  burden 
had  been  lifted;  but  her  joy  was  short-lived. 

"It's  broken  right  through,"  she  confessed, 
and  a  large  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek. 

"Don't  —  don't  cry,"  exclaimed  Gerard; 
"look  here,  we  will  manage  somehow." 

He  turned  the  slate  round,  meaning  to  repeat 
the  figures  on  the  opposite  end,  but  that  por- 
tion, too,  slipped  away  from  its  frame.  Mollie 
gave  a  gasp  which  caused  Gerard  to  put  his 
arm  around  her. 

"Don't,"  he  muttered  again,  and  his  teeth 
closed  over  his  mustache. 

(If  he  could  ever  be  half  as  penitent  as  this 
for  his  worst  sins !) 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  went  on,  as  he  pulled  him- 
self together. 

He  looked  toward  Miss  Fraser;  but  she  still 
preserved  that  uncompromising  attitude. 

The  truth  was,  she  was  meditating  whether 
she  dared  exert  her  authority  and  insist  on  Mr. 
Hargraves'  withdrawal.  She  would  have  liked 


62  THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

nothing  better.  But  she  had  an  uncomfortable 
suspicion  that  the  case  might  be  carried  to  a 
higher  court,  where  the  judge  would  be  fully 
prepared  to  enter  a  verdict  against  her.  Eva 
Hargraves,  she  knew,  would  never  imperil  her 
position  with  the  owner  of  Rookwood  for  the 
sake  of  a  point  of  discipline. 

So  Mollie  and  her  cousin  must,  perforce, 
work  out  the  matter  their  own  way;  only  she 
would  have  no  part  in  the  arrangement. 

Gerard  guessed  pretty  nearly  how  the  case 
stood. 

"See  here,  Mollie,"  he  said,  "I  've  got 
it." 

He  dived  into  his  pocket.  He  brought  out 
a  bundle  of  letters.  There  were  missives  in 
long  narrow  envelopes,  generally  blue  ones,  — 
those  he  put  back  again.  The  sheet  belong- 
ing to  the  first  square  envelope  he  opened 
was  entirely  filled  with  writing.  He  took  out 
another. 

"Oh!"  said  Mollie,  attracted  by  the  pink 
paper  and  the  great  golden  monogram  on  the 
flap,  "it 's  been  among  the  flowers.  It  smells 
like  them." 

She  moved  her  hand  toward  it. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  63 

Gerard  glanced  at  the  little  face.  With  an 
angry  movement,  he  crumpled  the  sheet  in  his 
palm.  He  closed  his  fingers  over  it,  until  the 
paper  crackled  with  the  pressure.  He  shot  a 
glance,  from  under  half-closed  lids,  toward 
Miss  Eraser.  He  put  his  hand  into  his  coat 
pocket,  and  drew  it  out  empty. 

"Not  that  one,  little  woman,"  he  said,  with 
a  long  breath. 

"It  looked  so  pretty,"  ventured  Mollie. 

"That's  just  it,"  he  responded,  and  there 
was  a  bitter  note  in  his  voice;  "so  do  they 
all  the  first  time  you  see  them." 

Mollie  guessed  that  something  was  wrong. 
She  put  her  hand  timidly  onto  Gerard's  knee. 
She  lifted  her  face. 

Mr.  Hargraves  looked  into  it.  He  had 
prayed  for  penitence  a  moment  ago,  and  his 
prayer  was  answered. 

"I  can't,"  he  muttered. 

He  straightened  his  figure,  and  drew  his 
neck  farther  out  of  his  collar.  It  was  a  char- 
acteristic action;  he  had  so  met  reproof  ever 
since  he  could  remember. 

He  went  back  to  his  letters;  he  found  one 
with  a  blank  sheet. 


64  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"Let  us  see  what  this  will  do  for  us,"  he 
said.  "Now,  then,  Mollie,  here  we  are!" 

He  carefully  copied  the  figures,  taking  care 
that  his  should  be  such  that  the  child  could 
easily  read. 

"Now,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  her  the  pen- 
cil, "you  must  put  down  the  others." 

"With  this?  "  asked  Mollie,  overpowered  by 
using  a  pencil,  "like  the  back  of  mamma's 
watch,"  for  such  an  every-day  process  as  her 
addition  sum. 

"Yes,"  said  Gerard.  "Now,  Mollie,  five 
and  seven  and  four." 

"It  isn't  so  nasty  with  this  pencil,"  con- 
cluded the  little  girl,  as  she  carefully  formed 
the  figure  at  the  foot  of  the  column. 

"  You  will  have  to  add  up  for  me  when  you 
get  big,"  suggested  Mr.  Hargraves. 

"In  a  little  book  like  mamma's?"  inquired 
Mollie,  who  had  seen  her  mother  settling  ac- 
counts; "  is  that  adding  up  and  twice  times? " 

"  Very  much  so,  —  especially  the  latter, "  said 
Mr.  Hargraves;  " but  the  next  line,  Mollie." 

"There,"  said  Gerard,  when  they  came  to  an 
end,  and  he  handed  the  paper  to  Miss  Fraser, 
"  we  are  released  now,  are  we  not  ?  " 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  65 

"I  told  Mollie  all  along  that  she  might  go 
when  her  sum  was  finished,"  returned  the 
lady. 

"Behold,"  began  Gerard,  with  that  mocking 
air  which  so  irritated  the  people  he  did  not 
like,  and  always  made  the  vicar's  daughter 
think  what  a  very  wicked  young  man  he  must 
be,  — "behold  a  woman  who  keeps  her  word. 
Mollie,  go  and  put  on  your  bonnet." 

Miss  Fraser  waited  until  the  door  closed. 

"Mr.  Hargraves,"  she  began,  as  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  "I  am  Mollie's  governess." 

"Lucky  Mollie,"  murmured  Gerard. 

"I  think,"  continued  Miss  Fraser,  her  thin 
voice  quivering,  "though  we  all  know  what 
has  been  your  attitude  toward  authority  all 
your  life,  that  I,  who  have  watched  you  since 
you  were  a  boy  —  " 

"You  hardly  pay  yourself  a  compliment," 
interpolated  Mr.  Hargraves. 

"  Since  you  were  a  boy, "  repeated  Miss  Fraser, 
bravely,  "may  tell  you  that  were  I  Mollie's 
mother  I  should  hardly  like  to  see  your  influ- 
ence over  my  daughter." 

Her  listener  drew  himself  upright.     There 
was  a  dangerous  gleam  in  his  eyes. 
5 


66  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"Your  sex  is  privileged,"  he  said;  "so  is 
your  father's  cloth.  You  and  he  have  remem- 
bered that  ever  since,  as  you  say,  I  was  a  boy." 

He  turned  and  sauntered  to  the  window. 
He  was  careful  to  look  supremely  at  his  ease, 
he  was  so  disproportionately  angry,  all  the  more 
so  because —  "Hang  it  all,"  he  muttered. 
He  assured  himself  that  it  was  this  prying  and 
meddling  that  did  all  the  mischief.  Rookwood 
was  his  own.  It  was  his  concern,  his  alone,  to 
whom  its  roof  afforded  hospitality. 

But  what  was  Miss  Fraser  saying?  He  did 
not  want  to  listen.  He  had  an  impulse  to 
silence  her  at  any  cost ;  then  the  door  opened, 
and  Mollie  entered. 

Miss  Fraser  rose. 

"Good-morning,  Mollie,"  she  said. 

The  child  went  toward  her  and  held  up  her 
face.  Miss  Fraser  was  tempted  to  kiss  it;  but 
she  remembered  the  man  by  the  window. 

"Do  you  think  you  deserve  it?  "  she  asked. 

Mollie  hung  her  head. 

With  an  impatient  movement  and  a  hard 
word  between  his  teeth,  Gerard  strode  down 
the  room.  He  held  open  the  door. 

Miss  Fraser  responded  to  the  action. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  67 

"Do  you,"  questioned  Gerard,  as  she  came 
up  to  him,  "think  it  part  of  your  Christian 
duty  to  take  vengeance  on  a  child?" 

There  was  another  look,  and  then  the  door 
went  to. 

"Now,  little  one, "said  Gerard,  "we  are  glad 
to  be  alone.  Shall  we  go  out  ?  But,  tell  me, 
what  have  you  been  doing  all  the  time  I  have 
been  away." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Mollie,  as  the  question  reminded 
her,  "  I  have  a  surprise  for  you. " 

"  A  surprise !  " 

Mr.  Hargraves'  eagerness  left  nothing  to  be 
desired. 

"What  is  it?"  he  questioned.  "You  must 
not  keep  my  curiosity  on  the  rack." 

"  Rack !     What 's  that  ?  "  inquired  Mollie. 

"  Where  I  have  been  for  the  last  ten  minutes, " 
Gerard  answered. 

"  You  have  been  here ;  you  have  been  in  the 
nursery,"  announced  the  little  girl. 

"Yes,"  said  Gerard,  "but  you  see  it's  this 
way,  Mollie;  it 's  only  a  stupid  way  of  saying 
that  I  wanted  something  very  much.  I  wanted 
you  to  be  very  quick  and  put  your  bonnet  on, 
and  now  I  want  to  know  all  about  my  surprise. " 


68  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

The  child  walked  across  the  room.  There 
was  the  solemnity  of  a  great  moment  upon  her 
curious  little  face. 

"  I  've  learned  it  all  for  you,"  she  announced, 
and  she  paused  in  the  midst  of  the  room  to  give 
weight  to  this  remark. 

"  Quick !  "  cried  Mr.  Hargraves. 

The  little  girl  went  to  the  piano  and  opened 
it ;  she  mounted  the  stool ;  she  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  her  instruction  book  until  she  came 
to  the  "Vesper  Hymn." 

Slowly,  laboriously,  —  for  Mollie  was  by  no 
means  musical,  — she  fought  her  way  from  bar 
to  bar,  and  when  she  had  finished  she  turned. 

"Mollie,"  said  Gerard,  "how  nice,  how 
clever  of  you !  " 

"It 's  got  one  flat,"  explained  the  child,  tri- 
umphantly. "  Look  ! "  and  she  pointed  to  the 
symbol. 

"  Is  that  a  flat  ?  "  inquired  Gerard. 

"Don't  you  know?"  asked  the  child.  "I 
thought  there  was  nothing  you  didn't  know." 

Her  amazement  came  as  a  pang  to  him. 

"  There  is  n't  much,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  Oh, 
Mollie,  I  am  glad  you  are  not  older." 

Then  he  insisted  on  going  into  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  VI 

DURING  the  next  few  days,  greatly  to  Mollie's 
perplexity,  Gerard  did  not  appear  at  the  Dower 
House.  As  a  rule  he  came  almost  every  morn- 
ing when  he  was  at  Rookwood ;  for  Mrs. 
Hargraves  was  very  gracious  to  him.  She  took 
pains  to  let  him  know  that  he  was  welcome  at 
all  seasons.  Perhaps  she  hoped  for  something 
personal  as  the  outcome  of  it  all.  Eva,  who 
never  hesitated  to  call  things  by  their  proper 
names,  —  to  herself,  —  had  not  made  up  her 
mind  on  this  point. 

At  any  rate,  —  and  this  was  sufficient  for  the 
time  being,  —  Gerard  aroused  within  her  some 
of  that  inclination  to  conquest  which  the  unusual 
check  of  seeing  her  wiles  powerless  to  move  the 
victim  of  them  did  the  most  to  stimulate. 

But  this  morning,  Mollie  heard  mamma  say- 
ing to  Aunt  Amy  that  Gerard  was  "  too  bad," 
that  "  he  had  no  excuse  at  all,"  "  this  Leigh 
girl  was  such  bad  style;  "  and  Mollie,  who  had 


70  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

just  returned  from  peeping  through  the  gate, 
wondered  what  "  bad  style "  might  mean. 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  take  any  notice  of 
her,"  said  Aunt  Amy,  as  she  put  out  her  foot 
to  start  her  chair  swinging. 

Lady  Pilister  was  spending  a  few  days  at  the 
Dower  House ;  and  the  sisters  were  seated  on 
the  lawn,  beneath  the  trees.  Mrs.  Hargraves 
had  an  open  book;  Aunt  Amy  was  frankly 
doing  nothing. 

It  was  one  of  those  days  of  rare  glory,  when 
the  heat  lay  as  a  soft  mantle  of  mist  in  the  hol- 
low, when  the  air  was  filled  with  the  quivering 
radiance  of  the  sunbeams,  when  the  drip,  drip, 
of  the  water  in  the  fountain  was  as  cooling 
music. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  waited  a  moment.  Her  blue 
eyes  looked  away  in  the  direction  of  Rookwood ; 
her  face  gave  no  indication  of  her  decision. 

"  Eva,"  exclaimed  Lady  Pilister,  "  you  must 
be  a  clever  woman.  I  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion you  are,  —  you  can  afford  to  look  so 
vacant." 

"Am  I  to  feel  complimented?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Hargraves,  and  she  laid  her  book  on  her  lap. 

"  That 's   as   you   like,"  retorted   her   sister. 


THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE  71 

"  I  only  know  I  can't  afford  to  appear  a  fool. 
People  would  insist  it  was  nature  having  its 
way." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  it  with  you,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Hargraves.  "  A  rent-roll  of  five 
figures  implies  the  right  to  emotions;  besides," 
—  carefully  tipping  her  dart,  —  "  you  might 
clash.  You  ought  to  consider  that  Sir  Harry 
has  never  seemed  ambitious  to  shine  as  an 
intellectual  light." 

The  color  glowed  under  Lady  Pilister's  fair 
skin. 

"  You  are  as  prompt  as  ever  in  paying  your 
debts,"  she  rejoined. 

"  Oh,  no,"  came  the  response ;  "  when  they 
are  worth  it,  I  have  learned  to  leave  them  to 
gather  interest." 

For  a  little  the  impatient  creak  of  the  ropes 
of  Lady  Pilister's  chair  was  the  only  sound 
which  competed  with  the  splash  of  the  water, 
then  Mrs.  Hargraves  looked  up  from  her  book. 

"  Miss  Leigh  and  Mrs.  Marsden  are  coming  to 
tea  this  afternoon  with  Gerard,"  she  announced. 

Aunt  Amy's  chair  went  back  with  a  jerk. 
The  eyes  which  were  a  brighter  edition  of  Eva's 
examined  the  tranquil  face.  Mrs.  Hargraves 


72 

had  found  her  paragraph  and  was  about  to  turn 
a  leaf. 

"  You  are  certainly  incomprehensible,"  Lady 
Pilister  exclaimed. 

The  statement  was  met  by  a  cold  smile. 

"  To  a  rich  woman  with  an  easy-going  hus- 
band, doubtless,"  answered  Mrs.  Hargraves,  as 
she  removed  a  fly  from  her  white  bodice. 

Lady  Pilister  looked  toward  the  house. 

"  It  is  a  nice  old  place,"  she  admitted,  and 
she  nodded  her  head  with  an  air  of  agreement. 

Mollie  heard  all  this  conversation,  and  was 
exceedingly  puzzled.  She  asked  Josephine 
what  mamma  could  mean  by  saying  that  Gerard 
was  "  too  bad."  He  could  not  have  been 
naughty ;  she  was  sure  of  that.  But  Josephine 
was  only  a  doll  and  could  not  help  her. 

"  I  wish  you  could  speak,"  the  little  girl  sighed, 
and  she  looked  wistfully  into  the  battered  face. 

She  wondered  whether  she  dared  ask  Aunt 
Amy  about  it;  Aunt  Amy  was  sometimes  like 
Gerard  about  answering  questions.  Not  so 
nice,  of  course ;  but  still  a  substitute,  though  a 
poor  one. 

The  child  pulled  herself  along  the  grass. 
Dared  she? 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  73 

"Aunt  Amy —  "she  began,  and  timidly  she 
pulled  her  aunt's  skirt. 

Lady  Pilister  glanced  down.  "  Good  gra- 
cious! Are  you  here,  Mollie?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Aunt  Amy  —  "  began  the  child. 

"  Run  and  play,"  came  the  quick  answer. 
"  It 's  good  for  little  girls  to  be  running  about." 

"  But — "  ventured  Mollie. 

"  No,"  objected  Lady  Pilister ;  "  it 's  too  hot 
to  be  taken  to  task  to-day,  Mollie.  Run  and 
play." 

The  child  got  up.     Yet  she  lingered. 

"Did  you  hear  your  aunt?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Hargraves. 

Mollie  hurried  away.  She  went  down  the 
drive  and  looked  through  the  gate.  She  thought 
Gerard  must  come ;  she  had  looked  for  him  yes- 
terday morning  and  all  the  afternoon;  she  had 
spent  nearly  all  the  time  since  her  lessons  were 
over  to-day  watching  for  him. 

After  a  little  she  retraced  her  steps  and  went 
into  the  garden.  But  there  was  no  joy  in  the 
roses  and  pinks,  none  even  in  lifting  off  the  pots 
at  the  head  of  the  dahlia  sticks  to  see  the  funny 
little  earwigs  drop  out.  Gerard  had  once  as- 
sured her  that  earwigs  did  not  a  bit  mind  being 


74  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

disturbed  ;  that  it  did  not  hurt  them  at  all  to 
be  dropped  on  the  ground,  —  they  would,  of 
course,  prefer  not  to  be  trampled  upon,  —  so, 
since  then,  Mollie  had  found  watching  them  a 
most  fascinating  employment.  They  wriggled 
their  bodies,  and  clasped  and  unclasped  the 
"  little-pincers-instead-of-a-tail "  in  the  most 
delightful  fashion. 

To-day  the  sight  was  marred  by  a  sense  of 
disloyalty.  Mamma  had  called  Gerard  "  too 
bad."  She  had  said,  too,  that  he  had  no  excuse 
at  all.  It  was  only  when  Mollie  had  been  un- 
usually naughty  that  nurse  or  Miss  Fraser 
applied  that  term  to  her. 

Mollie  grew  more  and  more  certain  that  there 
must  be  some  mistake  about  Gerard.  Then 
she  ought  to  tell  mamma  so !  Only  yesterday, 
nurse  had  read  a  story  about  a  little  girl  who 
had  not  spoken  out  when  her  little  friend  had 
been  punished  for  what  she  had  not  done,  and 
the  tale  had  concluded  by  declaring  that  it  was 
a  long  time  before  little  Mary,  who  ought  to 
have  spoken  and  had  not,  could  be  happy  again. 

Mollie  was  not  at  all  prepared  to  incur  little 
Mary's  fate.  She  was  quite  sure  of  what  she 
ought  to  do;  and  she  meant  doing  it,  but  that 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  75 

did  not  make  it  easy.  She  knew  that  it  would 
be  a  hard  matter  to  face  her  mother. 

In  the  end,  she  went  very  slowly  back  to  the 
lawn  and  up  to  the  tent-chairs. 

"  Mamma,"  she  began,  and  her  hands  went 
together. 

"  How  often  am  I  to  tell  you  about  your 
hands?"  interrupted  Mrs.  HargraveS. 

Mollie  unclasped  them;  she  was  trembling, 
such  a  big  lump  seemed  to  have  grown  in 
her  throat. 

"  Well,"  said  mamma,  impatiently,  "  what  do 
you  want?" 

The  words  would  not  come.  The  child  strug- 
gled; but  not  a  sound  would  pass  her  lips. 

"  If,"  said  mamma,  "  you  are  so  foolish,  you 
had  better  go  away." 

"  Gerard,"  stammered  Mollie. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Hargraves,  a  small  increase 
of  interest  in  her  tone. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mollie,  her  voice  rising  with  a 
sharp  note,  "  he  's  never  naughty." 

Mrs.  Hargraves  raised  her  arched  eyebrows; 
she  looked  toward  her  sister. 

"  Has  any  one  been  saying  he  was"?  "  she  in- 
quired of  her  little  daughter. 


76          THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

Mollie  was  bewildered.  Had  not  mamma 
said  it  herself  a  few  moments  ago? 

"  You,"  she  faltered,  "  said  he  was  too 
bad." 

"  So,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Hargraves,  "  you  have 
been  prying.  Claude,  I  am  sure,  would  not 
listen  to  what  was  not  meant  for  him." 

"  But  he  is  n't  naughty,"  persisted  Mollie. 

"You  don't  understand,"  retorted  mamma; 
"  and  if  you  will  listen  to  what  is  not  intended 
for  you  to  hear,  I  must  not  have  you  with  me 
again.  Go  away  now." 

Mollie  turned  silently. 

When  she  was  out  of  hearing,  Aunt  Amy  bent 
forward. 

"  Do  you  want  her  to  pour  the  tale  into 
Gerard's  ears?"  she  asked  her  sister. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  let  the  leaves  of  her  book 
slip  onto  her  hand  with  an  impatient  air. 

"  She  is  the  most  provoking  child,"  she  de- 
clared. 

"  Gerard  seems  to  find  her  interesting,"  Lady 
Pilister  rejoined. 

"  Gerard  !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Hargraves. 

Lady  Pilister  settled  herself  back  in  her  chair. 
She  swung  to  and  fro  a  few  times. 


THE   STORY  OF  MOLLIE  77 

"I  do  not  think  he  is  a  consideration  to  be 
despised  in  your  arrangements,"  she  observed. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  tell  Mollie  she  is  to  say 
nothing  to  him?"  questioned  Mrs.  Hargraves. 

"  And  leave  her  to  put  him  on  the  '  qui  vive ' 
by  the  effort  to  obey,"  retorted  Lady  Pilister. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  rose.  She  stood  before  her 
sister. 

"  What  am  I  to  do,  then?  "  she  demanded. 

"You  always  had  a  talent  for  explaining 
things  away,"  remarked  Aunt  Amy. 

A  look  passed  between  the  sisters. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Hargraves,  reluctantly, 
"  I  had  better  go  and  find  Mollie." 


CHAPTER  VII 

"  WE  will  go  by  the  Park,"  announced  Gerard, 
as  he  came  onto  the  terrace  that  afternoon  at 
Rookwood,  accompanied  by  Miss  Leigh  and 
Mrs.  Marsden.  "  It  is  a  little  longer,  but  it 's 
the  more  pleasant  way." 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  should  walk  a  step 
farther  than  we  need  on  a  day  like  this," 
interposed  Miss  Leigh. 

Gerard  watched  the  sunlight  dancing  through 
the  leaves  of  the  great  trees. 

"  We  need  n't  start  at  all ;  we  can  stay  here,  if 
you  like,"  he  answered. 

He  turned  until  he  faced  the  clump  of  green 
which  hid  the  Dower  House.  Would  Mollie 
be  watching  at  the  gate?  But  he  did  not  mean 
to  go  by  that  gate  to-day. 

He  wondered  why  Eva  had  thought  fit  to  in- 
vite his  guests.  If  they  had  not  met  face  to 
face  in  the  lane,  Miss  Leigh  would  never  have 
known  that  his  cousin's  widow  existed. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  79 

"  Let  me,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  doing  his 
duty  as  a  host,  "  put  you  a  chair  under  that 
tree." 

Miss  Leigh  looked  at  the  cool  shadow  lying 
across  the  path.  She  made  a  step  toward  it. 

"  No,"  she  said,  standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
walk ;  "  there  is  that  child.  One  must  go  out 
of  one's  way  for  that.  When  a  man  thrones  a 
child's  photograph  in  solitary  state  on  his  man- 
telpiece, I  'm  curious  to  see  the  original." 

"  Mollie,"  explained  Gerard,  and  he  spoke 
very  quietly,  "  is  not  a  pretty  child.  There  is 
nothing  picture-like  about  her." 

"Then  what  is  there?"  demanded  Miss 
Leigh,  lifting  her  eyebrows  until  they  nearly 
touched  the  fashionable  golden  fringe.  "  What 
is  there?" 

Mr.  Hargraves  smiled.  It  was  a  quiet, 
dreamy  smile ;  it  seemed  to  say,  "  There  would 
be  no  use  in  my  trying  to  tell  you." 

"  The  photograph  bears  you  out,  or  I  should 
not  believe  you,"  cried  the  young  lady. 

"Have  I  such  a  character  for  mendacity?" 
asked  Gerard. 

Miss  Leigh  laughed. 

"  I  never  believe  half  you  say,"  she  confessed. 


8o  THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

"  Perhaps,"  retorted  Mr.  Hargraves,  moved 
with  his  customary  recklessness  toward  thin 
ice,  "  that  is  why  I  don't  say  more." 

"  No,"  returned  Miss  Leigh,  and  her  chest 
heaved ;  "  that  is  because  you  have  the  courage 
of  your  caution." 

They  looked  at  each  other.  Mr.  Hargraves 
made  a  sweeping  salutation,  hat  in  hand. 

"Caution,"  he  mocked;  "I  never  was  so 
accused." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  the  girl,  slipping  by  the  expres- 
sion to  her  true  level,  "  you  will  always  keep 
your  skin  whole.  You  always  have  taken  care 
of  that." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Miss  Leigh 
pulled  the  rose  from  her  belt  and  slowly  whirled 
it  round.  Her  hands  showed  white  against  the 
red  of  its  petals;  she  put  it  to  her  lips;  her 
eyes  looked  an  invitation. 

Gerard  made  no  pretence  of  not  understand- 
ing. With  a  half-laugh  and  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
as  though  they  were  safer  there. 

"Am  I  to  find  that  chair?"  he  asked. 

Miss  Leigh  tossed  aside  her  flower. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  I  am  not  to  be  told  what 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  81 

you  see  in  the  plain  child,  so  I  am  going  to  find 
out  for  myself.  My  sunshade,  please." 

Mr.  Hargraves  picked  up  the  striped  parasol 
and  put  it  into  her  hand. 

"  Now,"  said  Miss  Leigh,  "  come  along." 

She  moved  down  the  path.  Gerard  drew  to 
one  side  to  make  room  for  Mrs.  Marsden. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Leigh;  "we  don't  want  you, 
Mrs.  Marsden,  until  we  get  to  the  high-road." 

Gerard  laughed  again. 

"There  is  nothing  like  saying  what  you 
want,"  he  observed,  as  •the  elder  lady  obediently 
started  by  another  way. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Marsden !  "  rejoined  Miss  Leigh, 
and  she  raised  her  shoulders. 

"  Mrs.  Marsden  understands  her  duties,"  con- 
tinued Gerard. 

"  Mrs.  Marsden,"  amended  that  lady's  charge, 
"  understands  what  they  are  not,  and  that  is  a 
great  deal  more  to  the  purpose." 

"  So  I  see." 

The  statement  was  greeted  by  a  gratified 
laugh;  while  Gerard  found  himself  wondering 
if  a  woman  ever  really  thought  to  impress  a 
man  by  showing  him  how  few  were  her  quali- 
fications for  so  doing. 


82  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"  May  I  ?  "  he  asked,  and  he  took  out  his 
cigarette  case.  He  held  it  toward  his  guest. 

"  No,"  decided  Miss  Leigh,  after  a  brief 
examination,  and  she  pushed  forward  her  full 
lips;  "they  are  not  my  kind." 

"  I  ought  to  have  filled  one  side  for  you,"  he 
said. 

It  was  not  far  to  the  main  entrance,  and  there 
they  found  Mrs.  Marsden  awaiting  them. 

"  This  way,"  said  Mr.  Hargraves,  as  the 
heavy  gate  closed  behind  them. 

"Is  this  the  shortest  path?"  inquired  Miss 
Leigh,  and  she  glanced  suspiciously  down  the 
level  white  road. 

"  They  are  about  the  same  distance,"  returned 
her  host. 

The  young  lady  lowered  her  sunshade.  She 
looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"That's  a  lie!  "  she  announced. 

"  My  love  !  "  murmured  Mrs.  Marsden. 

Miss  Leigh  turned  upon  her  companion. 

"  I  always  call  things  by  their  proper  names, 
—  you  ought  to  know  that,"  she  declared ;  "  it 
saves  trouble." 

"  And  leaves  one  in  no  doubt  of  your  mean- 
ing," amended  Mr.  Hargraves. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  83 

Miss  Leigh  put  up  her  sunshade. 

"You  will  perhaps  take  me  the  other  way?  " 
she  demanded. 

"With  pleasure,"  came  the  answer;  but 
Gerard's  under-lip  drew  in  the  whole  line  of 
his  mustache. 

He  crossed  the  road  and  held  open  the  hand- 
gate. 

"If  you  tear  your  dress  with  the  bramble 
sprays,  or  scratch  your  face  with  the  wild-rose 
bushes,  or  find  the  path  rough  for  fashionable 
heels,  on  your  own  head  be  it,"  he  said. 

"I'll  take  all  the  risk,"  answered  Miss 
Leigh. 

"It  must  be  single  file,"  he  announced;  and 
it  was  actually  a  relief  to  him  to  think  that  the 
arrangement  would  do  something  to  add  to  the 
difficulty  of  conversation. 

"Go  first,"  said  Miss  Leigh,  and  she  ad- 
dressed Mrs.  Marsden.  "You  shall  have — " 
and  this  time  she  spoke  to  her  host  —  "an 
excellent  opportunity  of  determining  whether 
my  hair  is  all  my  own." 

"Its  glory,"  replied  Gerard,  promptly  say- 
ing the  thing  required  of  him,  "must  blind 
one  to  its  defects, — should  there  be  any." 


84  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

.  "I'm  glad  you  added  that  last  clause,"  re- 
torted Miss  Leigh. 

The  way,  a  narrow  track  between  high  hedges, 
was  overrun  here  and  there  with  trailing  black- 
berry bushes,  or  broken  from  time  to  time 
by  clumps  of  wild  roses  which  —  late  though 
it  were  —  were  still  dotted  with  little  pink 
flowers. 

Gerard  broke  off  a  spray.  He  pulled  the 
leaves  absently,  one  by  one,  from  the  stalk, 
until  he  chanced  to  look  at  the  pink  bud;  then, 
with  an  impatient  movement,  he  thrust  it  into 
his  button-hole. 

He  was  a  fool,  of  course.  No  one  but  a  fool 
would  have  imagined  such  a  connection,  but 
those  pink  petals,  so  tenderly  folded  and  enfold- 
ing one  another,  and  showing  their  delicate 
veins  as  they  tapered  to  a  point,  somehow  made 
him  look  toward  the  Dower  House. 

He  confessed  to  himself  that  he  would  give 
a  good  round  sum  to  be  through  the  next  hour. 
A  few  feet  farther  along,  where  a  solitary  elm 
sprang  from  the  hedge,  a  mass  of  cool  green 
against  the  brilliant  sky,  the  path  made  a  curve, 
and  from  there  he  would  be  able  to  see  Mollie's 
gate.  Would  she  be  watching  for  him  ?  He 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  85 

almost  prayed  that  she  might  not.  He  did  not 
want  to  see  that  little  face  now.  He  wondered 
if  she  could  possibly  have  been  kept  in  the 
house.  He  would  even  have  heard  that  she 
was  detained  there  in  disgrace  without  resent- 
ment. With  every  step  of  the  way  his  dis- 
like grew,  until  he  became  so  reluctant  to 
face  what  must  follow  that,  could  he  have 
invented  any  excuse  for  the  return  of  his 
party,  he  would  not  have  scrupled  to  advance 
it.  He  racked  his  brains.  To  merely  arouse 
Miss  Leigh's  suspicions  would  only  be  to  aug- 
ment her  curiosity.  His  device  must  carry 
conviction,  otherwise  she  would  be  certain 
to  reach  the  Dower  House  or  perish  in  the 
endeavor. 

He  experienced  a  fine  contempt  for  himself. 
To  what  end  had  he  acquired  his  savoir  vivre, 
his  fertility,  if  it  would  not  help  him  out  of 
this  poor  little  trap? 

Mrs.  Marsden  had  already  passed  the  elm- 
tree.  The  track  widened  here,  and  was  broad 
enough  for  the  three  in  line;  but  the  elder  lady 
kept  steadily  on  her  way  without  even  as  much 
as  a  glance  over  her  shoulder. 

"She    has    been   well    trained,"   concluded 


86  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Gerard;  but  the  contempt  which  rose  out  of 
the  reflection  was  for  himself. 

Miss  Leigh  waited.  She  let  a  few  more 
steps  separate  Mrs.  Marsden. 

"  Have  you  settled  the  affairs  of  the  nation  ?  " 
she  began.  "I  looked  back  at  you  once  or 
twice  as  we  came  along,  but  you  were  in  such 
a  brown  study  you  did  not  notice  me." 

"  Is  that  possible  ?  "  mocked  Mr.  Hargraves. 

Miss  Leigh  surveyed  him  steadily.  She 
closed  her  sunshade  and  let  it  slip  against  the 
skirt  of  her  dress.  The  brilliant  smile,  which 
was  her  great  point,  so  her  friends  said,  and  of 
which,  as  a  rule,  she  made  generous  use,  died 
from  her  eyes  and  lips.  She  had  seen  herself 
with  her  neighbor's  eyes.  Every  woman  does 
that  now  and  again ;  and  the  pleasure  or  pain 
of  it  —  especially  when  that  neighbor  happens 
to  be  a  man  —  marks  her  true  position. 

"I  am  nothing  but  a  peg  for  you  to  hang 
compliments  upon,"  she  said  disconsolately. 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Hargraves;  "you  are  the 
magnet  which  attracts  them."  Miss  Leigh  let 
her  glance  fall  upon  the  ground;  she  trailed 
her  sunshade  with  a  scratch  along  the  path; 
she  sighed  softly. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  87 

There  was  a  few  moments'  silence,  another 
long  sigh. 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  eyes.  They  seemed 
to  sweep  over,  to  storm  the  man's  face. 

"Give  me,"  she  said,  "that  flower  out  of 
your  coat." 

Gerard  put  up  his  hand.  Why  not?  Miss 
Leigh's  blue  eyes  were,  after  all,  sufficiently 
blue. 

He  took  out  the  pink  rose-bud;  his  fingers 
closed  upon  it;  he  remembered. 

"No,"  he  replied,  laughing  uneasily;  "it's 
too  inappropriate." 

The  woman  by  his  side  forced  back  her  lips 
until  they  showed  the  double  row  of  white 
clenched  teeth. 

"Please,"  she  pleaded,  as  she  changed  her 
expression  with  a  dexterity  which  betokened 
practice. 

Gerard  loosened  his  fingers.  The  bud  fell 
to  the  ground;  he  put  his  foot  on  it. 

"  You  shall  have  the  finest  roses  Rookwood 
can  show,"  he  promised;  "you  shall  select  and 
I  will  cut." 

Their  eyes  met ;  his  defied,  hers  compelled. 

The  wooden  gate  was  in  sight. 


88  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Mr.  Hargraves,  with  an 
accent  of  relief. 

The  next  instant  the  quick  childish  note 
broke  on  the  air. 

"  Gerard  ! "  called  Mollie. 

"Mollie!"  responded  Mr.  Hargraves. 

Miss  Leigh  turned  and  faced  him. 

"The  two  paths,"  she  said,  "were  about  the 
same  length.  Oh  ! " 

A  quick  motion  of  anger  stirred  Gerard. 
Was  this  to  be  vulgarized,  —  Mollie's  attitude 
toward  him,  and  his  toward  her?  He  hurried 
forward,  outstripping  Mrs.  Marsden. 

"Mollie,"  he  said, — and  he  did  not  kiss 
her,  he  only  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  — 
"run  and  tell  mamma  that  I  am  bringing  the 
ladies." 

The  child's  disappointed  face  hurt  him;  but 
the  next  instant  he  saw  the  cloud  lift.  Mollie 
was  too  well  behaved  not  to  know  that  she, 
being  only  a  little  girl,  must  expect  nothing 
before  visitors.  She  set  off  running  up  the 
path. 

"Where  have  you  sent  her?"  asked  Miss 
Leigh,  as  soon  as  she  came  within  speaking 
distance. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  89 

"  To  tell  her  mother  of  your  arrival, "  answered 
Gerard. 

Miss  Leigh  shot  a  glance  at  him  which  made 
him  think  she  could  never  have  been  a  child 
like  Mollie. 

"This  way,"  he  said. 

They  went  up  the  drive  together.  Mrs. 
Marsden  had  assumed  an  air  of  protection; 
she  seemed  to  be,  all  at  once,  conscious  of  a 
change,  and  when  they  found  Mrs.  Hargraves, 
it  was  she  who  directed  a  benevolent  look  of 
introduction  toward  Miss  Leigh. 

Gerard  laughed  outright ;  and  Mrs.  Hargraves, 
who  had  come  from  the  sheltered  side  of  the 
lawn  to  greet  her  guests,  turned,  with  her 
leisurely  manner,  toward  him. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

Gerard  muttered  an  excuse. 

The  line  of  Mrs.  Hargraves'  upper  lip 
softened.  That  the  excuse  was  clumsy  as  well 
as  obvious  had  its  charm  for  her. 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  lawn  ? "  she  asked,  and 
she  addressed  Miss  Leigh,  — "or  do  you  prefer 
the  house  ?  " 

"Oh!  "  cried  Gerard,  "outside  on  a  day  like 
this." 


90  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Mrs.  Hargraves  turned  to  him  again. 

"Whatever  we  decide,"  she  said,  "you  may 
go  and  talk  to  Amy.  She  is  in  the  tent-chair, 
and  I  think  it  would  require  something  very 
serious  to  get  her  out  of  it  before  the  sun  goes 
down." 

"  Lady  Pilister  here ! "  exclaimed  Gerard ;  "  of 
course  I  must  go  and  speak  to  her.  She  gen- 
erally lets  me  think  she  is  one  of  my  good 
friends.  What  an  age  it  is  since  we  met ! " 

"Since  Ascot,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Har- 
graves, very  distinctly. 

"Who,"  retorted  Gerard,  "measures  time 
by  vulgar  reckoning  where  friendship  is  con- 
cerned ? " 

"You  are  growing  poetical,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Hargraves;  "and  after  that  —  " 

"The  other  swing-chair  as  the  reward  of 
genius,"  put  in  Gerard.  "I  hurry  to  secure 
my  prize." 

Mrs.  Hargraves  looked  after  the  tall  figure 
crossing  the  lawn;  but  her  face,  when  she 
turned  to  the  other  guests,  was  particularly 
expressionless. 

"  Which  shall  it  be  for  us  ?  "  she  asked. 

"The  lawn,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Leigh. 


91 

"I  thought  so,"  added  Eva. 

There  was  an  under  meaning  in  the  calm 
voice.  The  two  pairs  of  eyes,  alike  in  shade, 
so  different  in  all  other  respects,  challenged 
each  other;  then  Miss  Leigh  led  the  way 
toward  the  fountain. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  followed  a  step  behind ;  she 
wore  a  subtle  but  admirably  marked  air  of 
detachment.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  in 
this  company,  not  of  it. 

"Gerard,"  she  said,  when  they  stood  in  a 
group,  with  the  exception  of  Lady  Pilister,  who 
had  just  explained  that,  with  the  thermometer 
at  the  height  it  registered  that  day,  no  one  could 
expect  her  to  have  the  manners  to  get  up  — 
"Gerard,"  asked  Mrs.  Hargraves,  "do  you 
mind  seeing  about  some  more  chairs  ? " 

The  tone  made  Lady  Pilister  smile.  She 
understood;  there  was  an  unusual  note  in  Eva's 
request,  a  taking  for  granted  of  intimacy,  an  ex- 
pectation of  that  something  from  Gerard  which 
should  be  denied  to  the  rest  of  the  party. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Hargraves,  who 
was  very  ready  to  sing  second  in  this  duet; 
"will  those  out  of  the  hall  do?" 

" No, "  answered  Eva;  "you  always  grumble 


92  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

at  them.  You  declared  the  last  time  that  the 
wicker  chairs  were  far  more  comfortable." 

Lady  Pilister's  laugh  rippled  softly. 

"It  is  a  hot  day,"  she  said,  addressing  Miss 
Leigh. 

That  young  lady  sank  into  the  remaining 
swing-chair.  She  lay  back  negligently;  she 
put  it  in  motion,  settled  her  head,  — with  more 
regard  to  her  hat  than  to  comfort,  —  crossed 
her  feet,  and  displayed  her  pointed  shoes.  She 
was  pleased  to  think  that  her  hostess  must  stand 
while  she  was  so  evidently  at  her  ease. 

She  forgot  that  it  requires  a  vast  amount  of 
breeding  to  be  rude  effectively. 

"  Do  you  make  a  long  stay  ?  "  inquired  Lady 
Pilister. 

Miss  Leigh  was  indefinite.  But  had  her 
hour  of  departure  been  fixed  with  the  immuta- 
bility of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  she  would 
not  have  named  it. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  church  ?  "  pursued  the 
questioner. 

Miss  Leigh's  blue  eyes  began  to  glitter. 

"  It  is  considered  quite  a  fine  specimen  of 
its  kind,"  continued  the  level  voice;  "and  the 
ruins,  —  I  believe  Rookwood  contrives  to  be 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  93 

quite  proud  of  one  whole  pillar,  three  broken 
ones,  and  a  bit  of  untidy  wall,  which  it  is 
pleased  to  call  the  remains  of  an.  abbey.  You 
ought  to  see  them  while  you  are  here." 

The  insolence  grew  as  the  speaker  came  to 
the  end  of  the  sentence. 

"What  else  is  there?"  asked  Lady  Pilister, 
addressing  her  sister. 

"I  don't  care  for  sights,  and  I  care  less  for 
scenery,"  broke  in  Miss  Leigh. 

She  understood.  It  was  a  way  of  marking 
the  gulf  between  her  and  these  two  graceful, 
languid  women.  She  must  be  quick,  and  in- 
spect, while  she  ha'd  the  chance,  those  things 
with  which  they  had  been  familiar  ever  since 
they  could  remember. 

But  might  she,  too,  not  assert  herself? 

"Gerard,  "she  said,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Hargraves 
returned,  "please  move  this  chair  back  a  little, 
and  there  "  —  indicating  the  position  of  the 
one  he  held  in  his  hand  —  "shall  be  your 
reward. " 

She  attached  him  with  a  touch  of  ostenta- 
tion, offered  him  her  sunshade,  since  he  was 
in  the  glare  and  she  in  the  shadow. 

Mrs.    Hargraves   and   her   sister  exchanged 


94  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

another  glance.     They  smiled,  and  the  smile 
was  both  unconcealed  and  contemptuous. 

Something  about  Miss  Leigh  made  Gerard 
look  toward  his  cousin,  and,  had  he  seen  the 
slightest  malice  on  her  face,  he  would  have  felt 
impelled  to  defend  his  guests ;  but  Eva,  when 
he  glanced  at  her,  wore  a  perfectly  neutral  air. 

"Indeed,"  he  heard  her  saying  to  Mrs. 
Marsden,  "there  are  a  great  many  trials  with 
an  incubator.  The  chickens  have  not  nearly 
realized  my  expectations." 

"  Are  you  going  to  try  to  make  your  fortune 
out  of  poultry,  Eva?  "  he  inquired. 

"It  is  honest  dealing,"  retorted  Mrs.  Har- 
graves,  without  lifting  her  head,  — "which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  for  most  forms  of 
feminine  fortune-hunting." 

After  that  the  conversation  was  kept  in  safe 
channels  until  the  tea  appeared,  when  Miss 
Leigh  recollected  Mollie. 

"  May  I  not  see  your  children  ? "  she  asked, 
turning  to  her  hostess.  "  I  have  heard  so  much 
of  them  from  Mr.  Hargraves;  he  is  always 
singing  their  praises." 

The  easy  mendacity  of  the  remark  amused 
Gerard.  He  stroked  his  mustache  to  hide  a 
smile. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  95 

He  saw  Eva  hesitate. 

"They  must  be  having  tea,"  he  broke  in. 
"It's  a  pity  to  interrupt  them." 

Mrs.  Hargraves  smiled. 

"Martha  shall  tell  them,"  she  said,  and  she 
looked  toward  the  maid,  who  chanced  to  be 
coming  across  the  lawn.  "They  will  only 
be  too  glad  to  leave  their  tea." 

It  seemed  to  Gerard  as  though  he  could  not 
keep  his  eyes  off  the  house;  and  when  he 
saw  the  children  walking  hand  in  hand,  he 
even  forgot  to  be  amused  at  that  regulation 
manoeuvre. 

There  was  no  defining,  no  analyzing,  the  sit- 
uation. He  had  no  desire  to  do  either.  All 
he  knew  was  that  he  did  not  want  Mollie  at 
this  juncture. 

He  might  have  learned  something  —  if  he 
required  the  teaching. 

A  man's  estimation  of  a  woman  is  ever  ex- 
pressed by  those  of  his  acquaintance  to  whom 
he  would  present  her. 

"This  is  my  little  boy,"  began  Mrs.  Har- 
graves, and  Claude  made  friends  with  the  new 
ladies  at  once,  while  Mollie  stood  a  little  aloof, 
casting  a  timid  glance  now  and  then  toward 
her  cousin. 


96  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Ordinarily  Gerard  would  have  taken  the 
child  on  his  knee,  but  to-day  he  hardly 
looked  at  her.  His  head  was  turned  in  the 
other  direction,  while  he  talked  very  diligently 
to  Aunt  Amy. 

It  was  Lady  Pilister  who  beckoned  to  the 
little  girl. 

"  Where  is  Josephine  ?  "  she  asked,  when  the 
child  stood  beside  her  chair. 

"Josephine  does  not  come  down  to  mamma's 
teas;  she  never  does,"  Mollie  explained. 

"Who  is  Josephine?"  inquired  Miss  Leigh, 
darting  into  the  conversation. 

Mollie  fell  back  a  step. 

"She  is  —  is  —  my  doll,"  the  little  girl  con- 
fessed. She  always  bungled  a  little  over  the 
word  "doll."  She  was  reluctant  to  apply  such 
a  term  to  Josephine. 

"Your  doll,"  continued  Miss  Leigh,  who 
recollected  that  she  had  determined  to  find 
out  for  herself  the  attractiveness  of  the  "  plain 
child;"  "have  you  only  one?" 

Mollie  nodded  her  head  slowly. 

"Only  Josephine,"  she  replied. 

"You  should  buy  her  another,"  said  Miss 
Leigh,  as  she  turned  to  Mr.  Hargraves;  then 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE  97 

swinging  her  head  back,  "If  I  had  a  devoted 
cousin,  Mollie,  I  would  make  him  buy  me  no 
end  of  things." 

An  enigmatical  smile  flitted  across  Mr. 
Hargraves'  face. 

"Would  you  like  a  new  doll,  Mollie?"  ques- 
tioned Lady  Pilister.  "  Shall  I  give  you  one  ?  " 

The  child's  hands  went  together.  For  once 
mamma  saw  the  movement  and  let  it  pass 
unrebuked. 

"Do  you  want  a  new  doll,  Mollie?  "  chimed 
in  Mr.  Hargraves. 

The  little  girl  looked  piteously  from  Aunt 
Amy  to  Gerard,  from  Gerard  back  to  Aunt 
Amy.  She  looked  toward  her  mother;  but 
her  mother  made  no  sign. 

"Please,"  faltered  the  child,  "she  would  n't 
be  Josephine." 

Gerard  rose  abruptly. 

"  Mrs.  Marsden,"  he  said,  "  if  you  are  rested, 
I  think  we  must  be  going." 

He  went  over  to  his  cousin;  he  shook  hands 
with  Lady  Pilister. 

"Mollie,"  he  whispered,   when  he  came  to 
the  child,  who  searched  his  face  with  anxious 
eyes,  "that 's  right.     Stick  to  Josephine." 
7 


98  THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"  Secrets !     Oh !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Leigh. 

Gerard  threw  back  his  head ;  he  bit  his 
mustache. 

He  was  reminded  of  his  bondage;  and  though 
the  shackles  had  been  forged  deliberately,  and 
link  after  link,  by  himself,  as  he  felt  their 
weight  he  was  revolted  by  the  indignity  of 
them. 

He  lifted  the  child  into  his  arms. 

"I  may  whisper  to  you,  may  I  not,  Mollie? " 
he  proclaimed.  "Tell  them,"  his  tone  grow- 
ing fuller,  "what  you  are  going  to  be  as  soon 
as  you  are  grown  up." 

The  child  understood,  but  she  hesitated. 

Mamma's  "absurd"  rang  in  her  ears.  She 
looked  appealingly  toward  her  mother,  but 
Mrs.  Hargraves  was  too  wise  a  woman  to  spoil 
the  situation  by  prompting. 

"Tell  them,"  urged  Gerard.  He  held  the 
child  tighter  to  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
she  was  precious  beyond  all  measure;  she 
represented  his  better  self;  it  seemed  to  him 
that  life  would  be  better  if  she  would  but  own 
him  now. 

"Tell  them,"  he  repeated. 

"I'm,"  said  the   child,   the  words   coming 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE  99 

with  a  shrill  note, — • "  I  'm  going  to  be  Gerard's 
wife  when  I  grow  up. " 

Miss  Leigh's  sunshade  rattled  against  the 
frame  of  the  chair  as  it  fell  to  the  ground. 
There  was  a  pause  before  she  spoke. 

"  You,"  she  declared,  as  she  rose  and  faced 
Mrs.  Hargraves,  "don't  mind  long  engage- 
ments, evidently." 

She  made  her  farewells.  Gerard  put  down 
Mollie,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  hurry  you,"  he  said, 
turning  to  his  guests. 

When  they  were  left  alone  Lady  Pilister  and 
her  sister  resumed  their  seats  in  silence.  The 
silence  continued  until  the  last  glimpse  of  the 
retreating  figures  was  lost  to  view ;  then  Aunt 
Amy's  laugh  rang  out  clear  and  full. 

" '  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  suck- 
lings,'  "  she  quoted. 

"Mollie,"  said  mamma,  "had  you  finished 
tea?" 

"No,  mamma." 

"You  must  be  hungry  again,"  continued 
Mrs.  Hargraves.  "  Run  and  tell  nurse  you 
may  have  some  jam.  What  kind  do  you  like 
best?  You  may  choose  for  yourself." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  CHILDREN,"  announced  Gerard  Hargraves,  as 
he  sat  beside  his  cousin  on  the  lawn  at  the  Dower 
House,  "and  kittens  ought  never  to  grow  up. 
Can't  you  keep  Mollie  a  child,  Eva?" 

Mrs.  Hargraves  hesitated. 

It  was  three  days  since  the  memorable  tea- 
party,  and  Miss  Leigh  had  taken  her  departure 
—  baffled.  Perhaps  there  had  never  been  any 
real  hope  for  her ;  the  young  lady  was  not  clear 
about  that  herself;  but  she  was  certain  that  none 
remained  from  the  moment  when  Mollie  pro- 
claimed her  preference  for  Josephine. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  recalled  that  scene  now. 

"  My  dear  Gerard,"  she  answered,  and  her 
tone  was  tolerant,  "  do  you  think  you  con- 
tribute greatly  to  that  end  yourself?  " 

Mr.  Hargraves  started.  He  threw  away  his 
cigarette,  uncrossed  his  legs,  and  sat  a  trifle 
more  upright. 

"  Of  what  do  you  accuse  me  ?  "  he  asked  wearily. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          101 

He  was  so  tired,  tired  of  everything.  Every- 
thing worked  round  to  the  same  point,  to  the 
same  old  satiety.  There  was  no  freshness  any- 
where. It  seemed  to  him  if  he  could  but  duck 
himself  mentally,  morally,  into  cold  water  and 
come  up,  —  panting  and  breathless,  maybe,  but 
eager,  —  he  would  be  a  happy  man.  It  was  the 
tepidness  of  everything  which  sapped  his  strength. 

He  took  out  his  case  and  selected  another 
cigarette. 

"  What  is  my  new  offence?  "  he  persisted,  as 
he  pressed  the  little  white  roll  backward  and  for- 
ward between  his  finger  and  thumb.  "  Don't 
be  considerate,  Eva,  and  search  about  for  smooth 
phrases.  I  would  as  soon  take  the  thing  in  plain 
English." 

His  irritability  gave  Mrs.  Hargraves  an  advan- 
tage. She  could  play  upon  him  when  he  was  in 
this  state.  It  was  when  he  armed  himself  with 
cynicism  that  her  efforts  fell  aside  as  a  dart  falls 
from  steel. 

"  I  don't  think  I  want  to  scold  you,"  she  said, 
and  the  words  slipped  out  one  by  one,  as  though 
she  were  musing  over  them,  "  neither  did  I  mean 
anything  very  dreadful.  I  was  thinking  that  if 
you  continued  to  spoil  Mollie  as  you  do  now, 


102         THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

she  would  grow  exigtante,  and  that  is  hardly  a 
childlike  attitude." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Hargraves,  '"  cxigtante  /' 
That  would  be  a  pity." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  watched  the 
blue  rings  of  smoke  as  they  curled  upward. 
He  was  perfectly  aware  that  Eva  meant  a  great 
deal  more  than  that.  What  if  she  did? 

The  question  gave  him  an  odd  sensation  of 
breathlessness.  Then  his  mind  leaped  ahead. 
Would  Mollie  love  him  then  as  she  loved  him 
now?  Would  that  love  have  as  little  alloy  in  it 
then  as  it  had  now?  If  so  — 

A  smile  touched  the  dark  discontent  of  his 
face.  It  might  be  like  crying  for  the  moon ; 
but  when  for  many  a  year  had  the  moon  seemed 
bright  enough  to  cry  for? 

Mrs.  Hargraves  took  up  her  embroidery.  She 
threaded  her  needle  without  a  glance  toward 
the  man  by  her  side.  Eva  had  plenty  of  the 
wisdom  of  her  generation.  She  knew  that  the 
word  too  much  far  more  often  spoiled  a  cause 
than  the  word  too  little.  She  knew,  too,  that 
a  man  never  fails  to  appreciate  the  woman  who 
can  be  silent ;  and  at  this  moment  it  was  of 
consequence  that  she  should  be  appreciated. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE         103 

Moreover,  she  had  her  reflections. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  had  never  attached  the  small- 
est importance  to  Gerard's  fancy  for  Mollie. 
She  had  regarded  it  merely  as  the  whim  of  an 
idle  man,  and  had  looked  to  see  it  fade  before 
the  first  new  amusement.  But  the  last  three 
days  had  put  a  different  complexion  upon  the 
matter. 

When  Mrs.  Hargraves  accepted  her  cousin's 
assurance  that  the  Dower  House  was  hers  as 
long  as  she  chose  to  consider  it  her  home,  she 
had  not  overlooked  the  possibility  of  its  serving 
as  a  stepping-stone  to  Rookwood.  But  she  had 
quite  perspicacity  enough  to  see  that  the  stream 
between  that  stone  and  her  mainland  flowed 
strongly — and  against  her.  Gerard  was  dis- 
tinctly inclined  to  regard  her  with  prejudiced 
eyes.  Eva,  however,  cared  little  for  masculine 
prejudice.  It  merely  existed  to  be  overcome  — 
if  it  were  worth  the  while  ! 

If!  That  was  what  she  had  never  been  able 
to  make  up  her  mind  upon. 

Gerard  would  be  a  doubtful  advantage  if 
gained.  His  sharp-edged  speech  was  distasteful 
to  her ;  his  habit  of  stripping  the  glamour  from 
her  devices  was  more  so.  She  knew  that  she 


104         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

had  him  now  at  a  rare  moment  of  weakness. 
Ordinarily,  he  would  hold  his  coolness  as  a 
shield  before  him. 

But  should  his  fancy  for  Mollie  mean  some- 
thing more  than  a  fancy —  it  was  hardly  likely 
it  would;  but  meantime  the  advantage  lay  in 
acting  as  though  it  did. 

Eva  selected  another  shade  of  green  silk  with 
a  smile  on  her  lips. 

If  it  should?  as  she  mentally  repeated. 

To  pay  for  a  fancy  was  the  invariable  accom- 
paniment to  wanting  it.  In  this  case,  why  should 
not  she  reap  the  benefit,  and  preserve  her  ease? 

The  reasoning  was  as  emotionless  as  Mrs. 
Hargraves'  nature,  and  as  much  to  her  mind. 

"  Will  you  have  the  house  full  for  '  the  first '  ?  " 
she  asked,  when  she  considered  that  Gerard  had 
been  left  long  enough  to  his  own  devices. 

"  Some  one  must  kill  the  birds,"  he  answered. 

"Of  course." 

Eva  drew  her  silk  in  and  out. 

"  Men  only,  then?"  she  continued. 

Gerard  changed  his  position,  and  dropped  the 
end  of  his  cigarette  into  the  grass. 

"  I  want  you  to  let  me  take  Mollie  to  Rook- 
wood  for  a  day  or  two,"  he  announced. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE         105 

Mrs.  Hargraves'  work  slipped  from  her  ringers. 

"  My  dear  Gerard  !  "  she  expostulated. 

"  She  does  not  require  a  chaperone,  does 
she?"  he  demanded.  "You  can  send  a  maid 
with  her,  —  half  a  dozen  maids,  if  you  like." 

He  waited.  He  opened  his  case  and  sought 
out  a  new  cigarette.  He  wished  Eva  would  not 
take  such  a  time  about  things. 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Hargraves  began. 

Gerard  felt  that  he  must  have  Mollie.  He 
would  make  the  little  thing  sit  opposite  to  him  in 
the  dining-room;  he  would  take  her  out;  they 
would  spend  whole  days  together. 

"  Let  her  come,"  he  pleaded. 

"  If  I  could  ask  Miss  Eraser  to  go  with  her," 
Eva  began.  "  But  you  "  —  with  an  uplifting  of 
her  eyebrows  —  "don't  like  Miss  Eraser." 

"  No,"  he  concurred,  "  I  don't.  Besides,  she 
would  n't  come." 

He  left  the  subject  and  sank  into  his  chair 
again. 

"  I  had  another  request  to  make,"  he  re- 
marked, "  but  you  have  not  given  me  much 
encouragement  with  my  first  one.  I  expect 
Mrs.  Conyers,  with  her  husband,  for  '  the  first,' 
and  one  or  two  other  ladies.  I  wonder  if  you 


io6         THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

would  come  to  the  rescue  of  a  man  without  a 
wife." 

He  looked  away,  and  flicked  the  ash  from  his 
cigarette.  He  appeared  to  have  no  hope  that 
this  petition  might  meet  with  more  favor. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  laughed  lightly  and  promptly. 

"  You  forget,"  she  said,  "  what  you  and  Mol- 
lie  announced  the  other  day.  Since  you  pro- 
claim your  engagement  aloud,  I  think  I  had 
better  lose  no  time  in  assuming  my  position 
as  your  mother-in-law." 

"  You  are  thoughtful,"  Gerard  answered,  and 
his  voice  had  taken  its  incisive  note  again. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  bit  her  lip. 

"No;  merely  kind,"  she  said. 

Gerard  turned  his  head  until  he  faced  the 
woman  by  his  side. 

"You  will  allow  Mollie  to  come?"  he  said. 

There  was  a  pause.  Mr.  Hargraves'  glance 
did  not  waver.  Eva  looked  at  her  work  and 
then  at  him  again. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Hargraves  pushed  back  his  chair. 

In  a  moment  the  lady  rose. 

"Have  I  been  detaining  you?"  he  asked,  as 
he  followed  the  example. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE         107 

Mrs.  Hargraves  looked  at  him  with  a  superior 
smile. 

"  Not  at  all !  "  she  said.  "  Don't  you  see  "  — 
with  a  mocking  laugh  —  "that  I  am  beginning 
both  early  and  well.  Mollie  will  be  in  the 
far  garden.  Don't  I  understand  my  part 
admirably?  " 

Mr.  Hargraves  moved  his  shoulders. 

"You  are  always  admirable  in  your  parts," 
he  acquiesced. 

The  blue  eyes  flashed. 

"  You  have  always  appreciated  me,"  she 
returned. 

"  Let  me  carry  that  into  the  house  for  you," 
said  Mr.  Hargraves,  and  he  took  the  piece  of 
silk  from  her ;  "  only  be  careful  about  the 
needles." 

"  My  needles  never  prick  people,"  replied 
Eva,  promptly. 

"  That 's  your  cleverness,  you  see,"  he  an- 
swered; "but  they  have  points  all  the -same, 
and  one  does  impale  one's  self  on  one  occa- 
sionally." 

When  they  reached  the  terrace  Mrs.  Har- 
graves put  out  her  hand  for  the  embroidery. 

"  Don't  come  any  farther,"  she  said. 


io8         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Gerard  lifted  his  hat.  He  turned  and  saun- 
tered down  the  flower-garden  toward  the  beech 
walk.  Just  at  the  entrance  to  it,  where  the 
trees  fell  away  to  let  in  the  sunshine,  was  the 
little  patch  of  ground  which  Mollie  had  appro- 
priated for  her  garden. 

The  child  was  as  interested  in  it  as  in  every- 
thing that  came  under  her  care.  Her  flowers 
were  not  merely  things  which  came  up  and  died 
down ;  they  were  her  friends. 

Before  Gerard  reached  his  destination  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Mollie,  toiling  along  under 
the  weight  of  a  water-can. 

She  and  Claude  were  there  together.  He 
saw  the  little  boy  rush  toward  his  sister. 

"  You  are  spilling  it,"  expostulated  Mollie,  as 
Claude  seized  the  handle  of  the  can. 

But  the  young  man  showed  no  intention  of 
desisting.  He  clasped  his  fingers  tightly;  he 
tipped  the  can,  and  as  the  water  splashed 
over,  his  high  laugh  rang  out. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mollie,  "  it 's  too  bad  of  you  ! 
You  are  unkind,  Claude!" 

Gerard  strode  forward.  He  lifted  the  little 
boy  to  the  other  side  of  the  path. 

"  You  are  very  naughty,"  decreed  Mr. 
Hargraves. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          109 

Claude  began  to  scream,  and  that  was  too 
much  for  Mollie. 

"  Please,"  she  interposed,  "  don't  be  cross  with 
Claude.  It  was  only  fun." 

Gerard  held  the  child  at  arm's  length,  quite 
regardless  of  his  urgent  desire  to  kick  or  bite. 
He  felt  inclined  to  assure  Mollie  that  it  was 
only  selfishness;  but  her  faith  in  her  brother 
was  so  perfect  it  seemed  a  pity  to  spoil  it. 

"  He  was  only  playing,"  murmured  Mollie, 
reproachfully. 

Mr.  Hargraves  heard  the  reproach. 

"  You  see,  dear,"  he  explained,  "  Claude  might 
get  wet,  and  then  he  'd  catch  cold." 

Mollie  looked  toward  her  brother ;  she  looked 
toward  her  cousin.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  questioned  one  of  Gerard's  actions,  and  she 
knew  she  had  been  wrong.  She  slipped  her 
hand  into  his. 

"  Oh,"  she  pleaded,  "  I  do  love  you  !  " 

Gerard  let  go  his  hold  of  Claude.  He  looked 
at  Mollie.  He  shook  his  head  with  a  wistful 
smile.  He  wondered  why  this  child's  inno- 
cence had  such  power  to  move  him. 

"  I  know,  dear,"  he  said  reassuringly,  and 
the  child  smiled  gratefully  back  at  him. 


i  io         THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  suggested,  "  and  see  the 
garden." 

They  went  hand  in  hand.  Once  there,  he 
gave  his  opinion  on  many  matters.  He  was 
quite  sure  that  one  red  rose  was  sweeter  than 
all  those  at  Rookwood ;  he  was  confident  that 
the  Gloire  would  blossom  again.  The  ferns 
under  the  trees  did  not  require  any  more  sun- 
shine; they  liked  a  shady  position  the  best  He 
carried  the  watering-can  back  to  the  pump; 
he  went  again  and  again  until  everything  was 
moistened. 

"But  why  don't  you  pull  up  those,  Mollie?" 
he  asked,  and  he  alluded  to  a  clump  of  wall- 
flowers which  had  finished  blooming;  "they 
are  not  pretty  now." 

The  child  surveyed  the  yellow  drooping  leaves, 
the  long  seed-pods,  the  discolored  stalks. 

"No,"  she  said  reluctantly. 

"Pull  them  up,  little  woman,"  he  urged. 
"See,  they  are  in  the  way  of  this  mignonette. 
I  like  mignonette.  You  must  always  have  a 
lot  of  it  in  your  garden;  it's  my  favorite 
flower." 

"  You  like  it  the  best?  "  questioned  the  little 
girl. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE         in 

"I  think  so,"  answered  Mr.  Hargraves. 

"Then,"  said  the  child,  with  great  convic- 
tion, "  I  shall  sow  two  whole  packets  next 
year. " 

"  But  these  things  ?  "  asked  Gerard,  return- 
ing to  the  wall-flowers. 

The  little  face  grew  troubled. 

"They'll  think  I  didn't  like  them,"  she 
said;  "and  they  did  try  hard  to  have  as  many 
flowers  as  ever  they  could." 

"But,"  said  Gerard,  "they  are  not  flowers 
any  more. " 

(He  wanted  to  see  her  piill  them  up  that  he 
might  know  then,  at  that  moment,  that  he 
could  persuade  her.) 

"These  are  the  seeds  here,"  and  he  showed 
her  the  pods.  "  The  seeds  know  that  they  must 
be  taken  out  of  the  ground  so  that  they  may 
ripen." 

Without  comment,  without  hesitation, 
Mollie's  hand  went  out.  Obediently  she 
pulled  up  root  after  root.  She  laid  them 
on  the  path. 

"  Where  are  they  to  go  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

Gerard  pulled  his  mustache.  He  dared  not 
suggest  the  rubbish  heap. 


112         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  and  he  was 
much  relieved  when  he  found  a  solution  for 
the  difficulty,  "you  might  give  them  to  me, 
and  when  it  's  time  I  '11  send  you  back  some 
seed  from  Rookwood." 

Mollie  gathered  the  wall-flowers  into  a 
bundle. 

"It  will  be  all  right  then,"  she  said,  with  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  as  she  thrust  them  into  his 
hand ;  and  Mr.  Hargraves  remembered  the  words 
and  smiled  over  them,  as  he  carried  the  remains 
of  those  wall-flowers  back  to  Rookwood. 


CHAPTER   IX 

AFTER  that  followed  the  most  delightful  day 
Mollie  had  ever  experienced.  The  very  next 
afternoon  Gerard  himself  came  to  fetch  her 
with  "the  Phantom  "  in  his  dog-cart;  and  when 
she  arrived  at  Rookwood,  after  quite  a  long 
drive,  she  found  nurse  putting  out  one  of  her 
best  frocks,  just  as  though  she  were  in  the 
nursery  at  home  and  was  going  down  to 
mamma's  tea. 

"  Who  is  taking  care  of  Claude  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Martha,"  said  nurse,  conscious  of  the  im- 
portance of  her  position;  "of  course  I  had  to 
come  here  with  you." 

"Claude  won't  mind,"  Mollie  faltered. 

"He  won't  have  to,"  decreed  nurse. 

Mollie  was  silent  for  a  time.  She  was 
puzzled.  The  last  day  or  two  every  one  had 
seemed  to  treat  her  quite  as  though  she  were 
like  other  little  girls.  This  afternoon  mamma 


U4         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

had  kissed  her,  and  had  called  her  back  to  kiss 
her  again,  while  Gerard  was  waiting  to  lift  her 
into  the  cart. 

"Nurse,"  inquired  Mollie,  with  character- 
istic abruptness,  "do  you  think  God  has  let 
me  be  more  like  other  little  girls?  I  told 
Him  I  did  try  ever  so  hard,  and  that  mamma 
would  be  so  pleased  if  I  were,  and  I  'm  sure 
she  is." 

The  woman  passed  the  brush  once  or  twice 
sharply  across  her  charge's  hair. 

"Maybe,"  she  said  shortly. 

"You  are  not  cross  with  me?"  asked  the 
child,  turning  that  she  might  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  nurse's  face. 

"I  shall  be,"  answered  nurse,  relieved  to 
find  a  legitimate  outlet  for  her  irritation,  "  if 
you  will  keep  turning  your  head  like  that. 
How  am  I  to  roll  your  curls,  do  you  think,  if 
you  go  bobbing  your  head  first  on  one  side  and 
then  on  the  other?  " 

Mollie  received  this  reproof  very  humbly. 

She  kept  quite  still  until  she  was  told  that 
she  might  get  down  from  her  chair. 

"You  are  to  dine  with  Mr.  Gerard  to-night," 
nurse  said,  as  she  tied  the  little  girl's  sash. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          115 

"Dinner  like  mamma's?"  inquired  Mollie. 

"Yes,"  returned  nurse.  "Mr.  Gerard  is 
having  it  at  six  for  you.  I  must  take  you 
down.  You  were  to  go  into  the  drawing-room 
as  soon  as  you  were  ready.  I  never  knew  a 
little  girl  that  had  such  a  fuss  made  of  her." 

"Is  it  because  I  have  got  two  numbers  in 
this  birthday  ? "  suggested  Mollie,  for  she  was 
ten  years  old  that  day. 

"Perhaps,"  said  nurse;  but  she  was  still 
grim. 

In  the  drawing-room  Mollie  found  Gerard 
waiting  for  her.  It  was  more  and  more  like 
mamma's  dinner. 

"Come,"  he  said,  and  he  took  her  hand. 

"Josephine  would  have  liked  this,"  sighed 
the  little  girl.  "She's  never  been  in  to 
dinner." 

"  Where  is  Josephine  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hargraves. 

"Mamma  said  she  was  to  stop  at  home," 
Mollie  replied.  "  She  said  you  would  not  want 
her." 

"Why  not?"  questioned  Gerard.  "Never 
mind,  Mollie,  next  time  I'll  ask  her  particu- 
larly." 

Mollie   gave   her  cousin's   hand  a  squeeze. 


ii6         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

They  went  solemnly  across  the  hall  together; 
across  that  old  dark  hall  that  Mollie  somehow 
knew  was  so  beautiful,  and  then  into  the  long 
dining-room  where  the  ceiling  was  made  into 
curious  white  patterns,  with  thick  pieces  of 
dark  wood  between  them,  and  where  the  walls 
were  hung  with  pictures  of  men  and  women, 
who,  Mollie  thought,  were  dressed  very  funnily, 
and  not  like  anybody  she  had  ever  seen. 

There  were  no  seats  at  the  big  table,  but 
Gerard  took  her  to  where  a  great  round  window 
made  something  like  a  little  room  all  to  itself. 

"You  must  sit  opposite  to  me,  Mollie,"  Mr. 
Hargraves  said;  and  he  placed  her  that  she 
might  see  through  that  window  onto  the  beau- 
tiful rose-garden. 

The  summer  evening  was  very  warm,  and 
the  casement  was  propped  a  little  way  open. 
The  scent  of  the  flowers  came  in,  while  there 
was  quiet  music,  the  birds  were  calling  and 
singing  so  gayly. 

"Are  you  comfortable,  Mollie?"  asked 
Gerard. 

The  child  looked  across  at  him.  This  was 
the  most  wonderful,  the  most  beautiful  thing 
that  had  ever  happened  to  her.  It  was  so  won- 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          117 

derful  that  she  could  not  talk.  It  was  all  quite 
like  mamma's  dinner. 

When  the  dessert  came  Gerard  found  a  big 
peach,  peeled  it,  came  round,  and  put  it  on  her 
plate. 

Then,  just  as  he  turned  to  his  seat,  one  of 
the  sun's  rays,  darting  through  the  stained 
glass  of  the  window  behind  him,  threw  a  beam 
of  gold  upon  Mr.  Hargraves'  head. 

The  child  gazed  at  it,  fascinated.  She  had 
seen  the  same  effect  through  the  great  window 
in  church.  But  church  was  God's  house,  and 
Mollie  thought  such  things  were  to  be  expected 
there.  This  was  different.  Mollie  gazed  and 
gazed.  The  golden  light  kept  its  steady  stream 
upon  Mr.  Hargraves. 

"What  is  it,  little  one?"  he  asked,  as  he 
saw  that  the  child  was  looking  at  him  with 
round  eyes. 

"Gerard,"  she  said,  "a  little  angel  has  put 
its  wing  right  over  your  head." 

Mr.  Hargraves  did  not  reply  for  a  moment. 
He  could  not  follow  the  flight  of  Mollie's 
thought,  and  he  did  not  want  to  startle  the 
child  by  asking  abruptly  for  an  explanation. 
It  must  be  some  fancy;  but  Mollie's  fancies 


ii8         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

were  usually  so  exquisite  that  they  were  worth 
inquiring  into. 

"What,  dear?"  he  ventured,  and  his  voice 
was  very  gentle. 

"  It 's  all  gold ;  it  touches  your  head.  Does," 
—  and  the  little  face  grew  tender,  —  "  does  papa 
have  a  little  angel  like  that  all  to  himself  in 
heaven  ? " 

"Perhaps,  dear,"  softly  answered  the  man 
who  was  currently  reported  to  care  neither  for 
heaven  nor  hell. 

The  child  leaned  her  elbow  on  the  table  and 
put  her  head  on  her  hand. 

"And  you  '11  have  one  too  when  you  go  to 
heaven,  and  I  —  "  she  was  saying,  when  Mr. 
Hargraves  pushed  back  his  chair.  It  over- 
balanced, and  the  echo  of  its  fall  rang  through 
the  room. 

A  halo  for  him  ! 

"Mollie,"  he  said,  and  there  was  that  strain 
in  his  voice  which  betrayed  that  it  was  difficult 
to  speak,  "let  us  go  into  the  garden." 

They  roamed  about  hand  in  hand,  across 
the  lawn,  up  and  down  the  drive,  through  the 
apple  orchard;  but  they  lingered  the  longest 
in  the  rose-garden.  Again  and  again  Mollie 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE         119 

paused  to  examine  a  flower;  a  pull  at  Gerard's 
hand  would  make  him  halt ;  he  would  wait  with 
a  smile  —  of  which  Mollie  happily  did  not 
understand  the  significance,  for  it  gave  expres- 
sion to  the  tumult  stirring  in  the  man's  heart 
—  while  she  bent  over  the  white  lily  cups.  He 
lifted  her  up  that  she  might  look  right  down 
on  a  standard  rose,  which  had  covered  itself 
with  full  pink  blooms. 

"Look,"  said  Mollie,  as  she  gazed  on  the 
flowers;  "they  are  all  red.  They  look  as 
though  they  had  fire  in  them."  Gerard's 
attention  was  aroused. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  as  he  considered  the 
matter,  "that  it  must  be  the  glow  from  the 
sunset." 

Mollie's  eyes  swept  over  to  where  long  bright 
bands  of  crimson  and  gold  lay  dipping  down  into 
the  horizon,  behind  the  line  of  beech-trees. 

"Are  they  red  from  there?  "  she  asked. 

"I  think  so,"  answered  Gerard,  dubiously. 

It  came  to  him  as  something  of  a  shock  to 
find  that  he  had  never  remarked  the  phenome- 
non before.  But  when  he  had  walked  in  the 
garden  at  sunset  what  time  had  there  been  to 
spare  for  its  beauties?  When  he  was  alone, 


120        THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

there  was  reflection  or  memory  for  his  com- 
panion, —  the  alternative  of  things  he  had  done 
or  was  about  to  do,  which  had  been  better  left 
undone,  as  he  cynically  put  it  to  himself. 
When  a  man  was  his  companion  —  it  was  not 
the  roses.  When  a  woman  —  he  nearly  laughed 
aloud  —  how  much  less  the  roses  ! 

A  wave  of  gratitude  for  Mollie's  simplicity 
surged  up  in  his  heart.  Yet  it  pointed  a  con- 
trast, —  a  contrast  which  hurt. 

"Oh,  Mollie,"  he  sighed,  "I  wish  you  were 
not  quite  such  a  wise  little  woman." 

The  child  looked  at  him  pitifully.  She  had 
caught  the  dissatisfaction. 

"Have  I  been  naughty?"  she  asked,  going 
straight  to  the  origin  of  most  of  the  dissatis- 
faction of  her  life. 

He  shook  his  head  lightly. 

"It  is  I  who  have  been  naughty,"  he  said. 

Mollie's  curls  swung  with  the  energy  of  her 
dissent. 

"But  I  have,"  he  persisted,  to  see  how  she 
would  take  it.  "  I  was  such  a  bad  boy." 

"Bad,  naughty?"  repeated  Mollie. 

"Very  naughty,"  said  Gerard. 

The  child  looked  troubled.     Mr.  Hargraves 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          121 

watched  her;  he  wanted  her  to  find  her  solution 
quite  in  her  own  way. 

Suddenly  her  face  cleared. 

"It  was  when  you  were  a  little  boy  like 
Claude?"  she  said,  lifting  her  wistful  eyes  to 
his. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  He  had  not  the  heart  to 
set  her  right. 

"  And  you  have  been  sorry,  ever  so  sorry  ? " 

"Of  course,"  conceded  Mr.  Hargraves,  and 
he  just  prevented  himself  from  adding,  "  That 's 
part  of  the  business." 

"It  is  all  right,  then,"  said  Mollie,  and  she 
rubbed  her  head  against  his  sleeve. 

But  at  that  moment  Mollie  saw  her  nurse 
coming  down  the  path. 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  sighed;  "and  I  'm  not  a  bit 
sleepy  yet." 

"It  is  past  eight,  sir,"  nurse  ventured,  when 
Mr.  Hargraves  seemed  unwilling  to  part  with 
the  little  girl. 

" '  Early  to  bed,  early  to  rise, '  "  he  quoted. 
"Well,  nurse,  I  should  be  sorry  to  interfere 
with  the  working  of  that  excellent  maxim,  but 
you  might  give  us  five  minutes  more,  and  then 
I'll  bring  in  Miss  Mollie." 


122         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

"All  good  things  come  to  an  end,  little  one," 
sighed  Mr.  Hargraves  as  soon  as  the  echo  of 
nurse's  footsteps  had  ceased. 

He  was  disconsolate,  irritated,  too,  as  an 
undisciplined  nature  always  is,  that  when  he 
did  happen  to  be  content  with  something  that 
was  absolutely  harmless,  circumstances  should 
dare  to  curtail  his  hour  of  enjoyment. 

But  even  at  the  end  of  this  day,  which  had 
been  such  a  day  of  bliss  to  her,  there  was  more 
in  store  for  Mollie. 

"See,"  began  Gerard,  and  then  he  paused 
and  passed  his  hands  down  his  coat. 

"You  put  it  in  there,"  said  the  child,  nod- 
ding her  head  wisely,  for  she  was  familiar  with 
that  method  of  searching  for  a  cigarette  case. 

"No,  not  that  now,"  laughed  Mr.  Hargraves; 
"but  I  never  do  know  into  which  pocket  I 
put  it,  do  I,  Mollie  ?  What  should  I  do  with- 
out you  to  tell  me  ?  But  it  is  n't  cigarettes  this 
time." 

He  put  his  hand  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his 
coat,  and  when  he  drew  it  out  it  held  a  tiny 
crystal  heart  hanging  upon  a  slender  golden 
chain. 

"Hold  up  your  head,  Mollie,"  he  said. 


THE  STORY  OF  MOLLIE         123 

He  put  his  arms  around  her,  the  clasp  went 
together,  and  the  little  heart  was  lying  on 
Mollie's  dress. 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  the  child. 

"  You  must  wear  it  always, "  he  said. 

"  Every  day?  "  whispered  Mollie,  and  she  put 
her  head  on  one  side,  then  peered  downward, 
drawing  her  mouth  until  her  chin  rested  on 
her  bodice,  to  get  a  better  view  of  this 
treasure. 

"Always,"  repeated  Gerard. 

The  child's  hand  stole  into  his. 

"You  are  the  nicest  Gerard  in  all  the  world," 
she  declared. 

"Ah,  Mollie,"  he  answered,  and  the  man's 
voice  was  almost  a  cry,  "  will  you  always  think 
that?" 


CHAPTER   X 

IT  was  several  hours  later  when  Gerard  Har- 
graves,  as  he  gained  the  head  of  the  staircase, 
on  his  way  to  his  room,  saw  something  white 
in  the  opening  of  one  of  the  windows  in  the 
corridor. 

He  went  toward  it,  more  than  half  deter- 
mined that  it  was  but  the  effect  of  a  shadow  or 
his  fancy. 

His  footsteps  made  no  sound  upon  the  thick 
carpet;  the  moonlight,  streaming  in  its  silver 
glory  through  the  row  of  long  mullioned  win- 
dows, mocked  the  feeble  glimmer  of  his 
candle. 

"  Mollie ! "  he  exclaimed,  when  he  came  near 
enough  to  see  that  it  was  the  child. 

She  had  evidently  fallen  asleep,  huddled 
close  to  the  window,  with  her  cheek  pressed 
against  the  pane,  and  one  hand  clasping  the 
crystal  heart,  — that  crystal  heart,  which,  if 
Mollie  could  have  her  way,  would  never  leave 
her  neck. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          125 

At  the  sound  of  Gerard's  voice  the  little  girl 
stirred.  She  raised  her  hands  to  her  sleepy 
eyes,  started,  shivered.  She  looked  about. 
Her  unaccustomed  surroundings  evidently 
frightened  her.  Her  face  grew  pitiful.  She 
struggled  to  her  feet. 

"Mollie,"  repeated  Gerard. 

He  was  afraid  to  touch  her  for  fear  that  she 
might  be  startled. 

The  child  examined  him. 

"Are  you  real?  "  she  said  doubtfully. 

He  put  out  his  hand ;  he  clasped  hers. 

"Did  you  think  you  were  dreaming?"  he 
questioned. 

Mollie  turned  away  from  him  to  the  window. 
Without,  in  the  purple  of  the  night,  countless 
stars  were  twinkling,  and  at  that  moment  the 
moon,  which  had  been  half  obscured  by  a  cloud, 
rode  out  to  shine  with  its  full  white  light. 

Mollie's  disengaged  hand  stole  back  to  her 
neck.  She  felt  for  her  treasure. 

"I  came  to  tell  papa,"  she  whispered. 

"Why  did  you  come  here;  wouldn't  the 
other  window  do?"  asked  Gerard,  struggling, 
as  usual,  after  the  flight  of  her  imagination. 

"He  could  see  better,"  Mollie  replied;  and 


126         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

then  Mr.  Hargraves  recollected  that  a  great 
tree  partially  shaded  the  light  from  Mqllie's 
room. 

"  What  did  you  want  papa  to  see  ?  "  he  asked, 
for  he  always  acquiesced  in  the  little  girl's 
notion  of  holding  communication  with  her 
father. 

"This,  of  course,"  said  Mollie,  and  she  lifted 
the  crystal  heart. 

Gerard  pressed  the  child  to  him. 

"You  fell  asleep  telling  him  I  gave  it  to 
you,"  he  said. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  go  to  sleep,"  the  child 
interposed. 

"  Oh !  "  Gerard  hastened  to  assure  her,  "  papa 
knows  that." 

The  little  girl  put  up  her  hand  and  stroked 
the  man's  face. 

He  felt  the  action;  he  felt  the  absolute  trust- 
fulness of  it.  It  was  one  of  those  moments  of 
sweetness  too  sweet  to  be  prolonged. 

"Mollie,"  he  exclaimed,  and  he  gave  his 
head  a  shake,  "what  am  I  thinking  of?  You  '11 
catch  cold.  I  shall  carry  you  straight  back  to 
bed ! " 

He   rose  with  the  child  still  in  his  arms, 


THE   STORY  OF  MOLLIE         127 

walked  along,  and  pushed  open  the  last  door 
on  the  landing.  He  laid  the  little  girl  in  the 
ponderous  mahogany  bed,  told  her,  with  a  low 
laugh,  that  she  was  nearly  lost  in  it,  kissed 
her,  and  then  stood  listening  a  moment. 

He  was  relieved  that  nurse,  sleeping  in  the 
next  room,  had  not  heard  them. 

He  wolud  have  been  hard  pressed  before  he 
had  let  the  woman  know  where  he  had  found 
the  child,  and  what  had  taken  her  to  that 
particular  window. 

When  he  left  Mollie,  he  went  back  to  the 
window.  He  stood  leaning  against  its  frame 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  except  that  every 
now  and  then  one  of  them  went  out  to  drag 
fiercely  at  his  mustache. 

The  desire  for  sleep  had  entirely  left  him. 
When  he  had  been  there  a  little  while,  he  lit  a 
cigarette,  and  looked  out  into  the  night.  The 
weirdness  of  the  moonlight  was  over  the  gar- 
den, the  trees,  the  landscape.  The  stillness 
was  as  a  hush  of  nature ;  but  to  Gerard  it  only 
pointed  a  contrast  to  his  own  mood.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  though  the  rest  of  the  world 
might  be  elected  to  this  peace,  but  he  was 
surely  an  outcast. 


128         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Restlessness,  dissatisfaction,  had  him  at  their 
mercy.  Everything  he  strove  to  ignore  rose 
up  and  demanded  attention,  —  the  uselessness, 
the  wastefulness  of  his  career  persisted  in 
intruding  their  claims  upon  his  consciousness. 

In  vain  he  told  himself  that  he  was  no  phil- 
osopher; in  vain  he  reiterated  that  stoicism 
was  impossible  for  such  men  as  he;  in  vain  he 
took  refuge  in  that  old  excuse,  which  urged 
that,  though  he  had  not  been  virtuous,  many  a 
man  had  been  much  worse;  in  vain  he  called 
on  temperament  to  declare  that  it  was  the 
initial  cause,  on  training  and  circumstance  to 
take  the  responsibility  for  the  results. 

Self  would  not  be  annihilated;  individuality 
would  not  be  set  aside.  He  knew  —  had  known 
all  along  —  that  he  himself  had  chosen  his 
part. 

It  was  one  of  those  hours  of  reckoning  when 
Conscience  presents  her  balance  sheet,  and 
demands  that  the  deficit  shall  be  made  good 
in  Remorse. 

All  at  once  Gerard  felt  that  the  house  would 
not  hold  him.  He  tossed  away  his  cigarette. 
It  glowed  a  few  feet  before  him,  a  point  of 
bright  light.  He  put  out  his  foot  and  crushed 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          129 

the  flame.  He  went  along  the  corridor,  down 
the  steps,  through  the  hall,  and  then  to  the 
side  door. 

Carefully  he  withdrew  the  bolts ;  he  pulled 
the  door  after  him ;  he  breathed  hard  when  he 
stood  with  the  night  air  on  his  face. 

He  sauntered  down  the  paths. 

All  at  once  he  paused,  listened.  His  limbs 
grew  tense;  there  was  an  alertness  about  him. 
He  listened  again.  There  was  the  watchful- 
ness of  a  man  who  has  a  prey  to  track. 

Gerard  stole  cautiously  forward.  He  stepped 
on  the  grass,  on  the  mould,  that  his  footfall 
might  not  be  heard. 

His  depression  had  vanished.  He  forgot 
that  his  head  was  bare,  that  he  had  no  warmer 
covering  than  his  dinner-jacket. 

He  thought  he  saw  a  figure  glide  toward  the 
rabbit-warren. 

"  Fool !  "  he  muttered,  surprised  that  any  one 
should  choose  a  bright  moonlight  night  for  a 
poaching  affray. 

He  stole  more  and  more  cautiously  onward. 
The  shadow  grew  deeper,  for  the  moon  had 
passed  behind  a  belt  of  clouds. 

"Now,"  he  muttered,  clenching  his  teeth. 
9 


130         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

He  crept  into  the  plantation,  through  the 
narrow  strip  of  trees,  until  he  faced  the  open 
of  the  warren.  He  looked  on  a  moment.  He 
could  see  more  than  one  figure  at  work  spread- 
ing the  nets. 

His  blood  was  up.  He  forgot  prudence; 
he  forgot  that  he  was  but  one  man;  that  the 
poachers  might  be  many;  that  he  was  unarmed, 
while  they,  assuredly,  would  not  want  for  heavy 
sticks,  even  should  they  have  omitted  to  pro- 
vide themselves  with  more  dangerous  weapons. 

The  moment  came !  With  a  shout,  he  rushed 
into  the  field.  There  was  a  thought  of  flight 
on  the  part  of  the  thieves;  the  certainty  that 
they  had  but  one  man  with  whom  to  contend, 
and  then  — 

The  unbroken  stillness,  the  earth  torn  with 
the  trampling  of  many  feet,  a  heavy  stick  dis- 
colored at  its  knob,  a  white  face,  lying  with 
sightless  eyes  turned  to  the  moonlit  sky. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IN  the  morning  there  was  no  Gerard  to  greet 
Mollie.  Consternation  reigned  at  Rookwood 
and  at  the  Dower  House.  Mrs.  Hargraves, 
when  she  heard  the  news,  ordered  all  the 
blinds  to  be  drawn,  retired  to  her  own  room, 
and  tearfully  demanded  her  dressing-gown. 

"  It  was  all  so  sudden,  so  terrible ! "  she  mur- 
mured, as  Martha  tucked  the  blanket  over  the 
sofa,  and  arranged  another  cushion  behind  her 
mistress's  head. 

Mrs.  Hargraves  was  nothing  if  not  appro- 
priate. She  held  that  it  was  impossible  to 
mourn  in  an  upright  position,  or  without  her 
scent-bottle;  just  as  she  did  not  feel  that  it 
would  be  fitting  to  shed  abundant  tears  in  a 
tailor-made  gown. 

Nurse  brought  Mollie  home  before  the 
nursery  dinner;  but  as  yet  the  child  knew 
nothing.  She  had  been  told  that  her  cousin 


132         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

had  gone  away  before  she  got  up,  and  she  had 
accepted  the  statement,  though  she  wondered 
why  Gerard  had  not  come  to  say  "good-bye," 
and  why,  when  she  went  down  to  breakfast  in 
the  housekeeper's  room,  Mrs.  Miles  had  kept 
repeating,  "  Poor  lamb ! "  and  had  put  the  corner 
of  her  black  silk  apron  to  her  eyes  as  though 
she  were  crying. 

Who  was  to  tell  Mollie? 

Mrs.  Hargraves  immediately  decided  that  she 
was  not  equal  to  the  task.  She  never  could 
bear  to  see  her  children  suffer.  So  nurse  went 
down  to  the  opening  by  the  beech  walk,  where 
Mollie  was  weeding  her  garden.' 

She  took  the  little  girl's  hand.  She  saw  the 
crystal  heart  gleaming  on  the  child's  cotton 
bodice.  She  prepared  for  a  passion  of  tears. 

As  gently  as  she  could,  she  told  Mollie  that 
God  had  taken  Cousin  Gerard  to  heaven. 

"The  same  as  papa?  "  breathed  Mollie. 

Her  face  was  white,  frightened;  but  her  eyes 
were  dry. 

"Yes,"  said  nurse. 

"The  same  as  papa,"  repeated  Mollie. 

Both  hands  stole  upward,  and  clasped  the 
crystal  heart. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          133 

Nurse's  sympathy  began  to  evaporate.  Ordi- 
narily Mollie's  tears  flowed  rapidly  enough. 
Did  the  child  care  so  little,  and  after  she  had 
been  made  such  a  fuss  of  ? 

"He's  dead,"  said  the  woman;  and  she 
brought  out  the  two  bald  words  with  the  idea 
that  she  might  spare  herself  the  trouble  of 
searching  for  a  more  gentle  phrase. 

Mollie  looked  over  to  the  beech-trees.  How 
dared  they  whisper  and  be  green?  How  dared 
the  sky  be  blue  ?  She  looked  at  her  garden, 
but  only  to  feel  that  she  must  rush  into  the 
midst  of  it  and  trample  under  foot  each  flower 
that  dared  to  raise  its  bright  head. 

She  was  quite  a  little  girl ;  but  is  it  too 
much  to  say  that  the  very  blackness  of  despair 
settled  over  her  soul? 

"Then  how  can  I  be  Gerard's  wife?"  she 
asked  herself. 

It  came  to  her  that  she  must  be  alone. 

She  walked  away,  slowly,  deliberately.  She 
went  through  the  path  between  the  beeches, 
out  into  the  field.  The  grass  there  was  long, 
and  the  furrows  were  deep.  She  struggled 
on ;  she  walked  as  steadily  as  though  she  had 
a  destination  in  view.  She  came  to  a  ridge, 


134         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

breasted  it,  went  down  into  the  hollow,  straight 
on  through  the  thick  bed  of  nettles,  all  heed- 
less of  their  stings,  through  the  little  trickle 
of  a  stream  at  the  bottom,  unmindful  of  the 
mud  and  of  the  water  which  splashed  into 
her  low  shoes.  She  struggled  up  the  opposite 
bank.  (She  had  never  gone  so  far  away  alone 
before.)  She  stood  on  its  crest;  she  faced  a 
field  of  golden  corn.  Why  had  the  reapers 
left  it  standing?  A  bird  began  to  sing  —  and 
Gerard  was  in  heaven.  , 

With  a  long  moan  the  child  threw  herself 
upon  the  ground,  face  downward.  Her  chest 
heaved  with  great  hard  sobs;  the  tears  forced 
themselves  out  of  her  eyes.  She  looked  up  to 
the  sky.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in  all  that 
brilliant  blue. 

"God,"  she  clamored,  "you  took  papa,  and 
now  you  have  taken  Gerard.  You  are  not  good 
at  all ;  you  are  greedy. " 

She  buried  her  face  in  the  grass.  She  fully 
expected  the  lightning  to  leap  forth  and  scorch 
her,  or  the  earth  to  open  and  swallow  her. 
She  did  not  think  God  would  hear  her  say 
such  things  to  Him  without  punishing  her. 

She  did  not  care.     It  was  true,  true !     With 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE         135 

her  limbs  as  strained  as  though  she  were  ex- 
pecting a  blow,  she  waited.  Nothing  came. 

"Gerard!  Gerard!" 

The  child  almost  screamed  the  words.  She 
clutched  the  grass  around  her.  She  tore  up 
handful  after  handful;  the  coarse  blades  cut 
her  fingers,  and  she  never  knew  it;  she  beat 
the  ground  with  her  feet;  she  moaned  with  her 
pain.  The  birds  went  on  singing.  She  rubbed 
her  face  into  the  grass. 

Meantime  nurse  had  reported  to  Mrs.  Har- 
graves  how  Mollie  had  borne  the  blow,  and, 
according  to  that  version,  the  child  had  "  walked 
away  as  unconcerned  as  if  she  had  been  spoken 
to  about  her  dinner." 

Mrs.  Hargraves  was  greatly  scandalized. 
She  looked  up  from  her  luncheon,  put  down 
her  fork,  and  rested  her  fingers  thoughtfully 
upon  the  stem  of  her  champagne  glass;  for 
Eva's  grief  demanded  invalid's  fare  as  well 
as  its  other  distinguishing  characteristics. 

"You  say  she  did  not  cry  at  all,"  she 
repeated. 

"Not  as  much  as  a  tear,  ma'am,"  nurse 
assured  her. 


136         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

Mrs.  Hargraves  carefully  dabbled  her  eyes 
with  her  lace  handkerchief. 

"It  is  incomprehensible,"  she  murmured, 
"so  unnatural,  so  unchildlike.  She  is  really 

—  one  can  call  it  nothing  less  —  she  is  posi- 
tively hard-hearted." 

But  if  Mollie  declined  to  be  decorously  heart- 
broken, Mrs.  Hargraves  determined  that  noth- 
ing she  could  do  should  be  lacking  to  make  her 
daughter  look  as  like  it  as  possible.  All  the 
child's  colored  ribbons  were  put  away  that  very 
afternoon ;  and  not  content  with  banishing  the 
blue  and  pink  sashes,  Mrs.  Hargraves  arrayed 
her  little  daughter  in  a  straight  black  dress, 
which  made  the  sallow  face  look  still  more 
sallow  and  the  large  eyes  larger  than  ever. 

"  Not  that  she  approved  of  a  parade  of  mourn- 
ing," as  Mrs.  Hargraves  was  careful  to  inform 
the  dressmaker,  who  would  be  sure  to  pass  the 
remarks  onward,  "but  considering  Mr.  Har- 
graves' touching  devotion  to  her  little  daugh- 
ter, she  felt  she  could  not  do  less.  Besides,  if 
one  really  grieved,  a  black  dress  was  so  appro- 
priate. She  knew  that  "  —  and  a  sigh  and  a 
drooping  of  the  eyelids  marked  the  experience 

—  "for  months  after  her  husband's  death   it 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          137 

hurt,  really  hurt  her  to  think  of  a  colored 
gown. " 

Then  a  great  white  wreath  came  down  from 
London,  and  Mrs.  Hargraves  desired  Mollie  to 
write  the  words,  "  From  little  Mollie  "  on  the 
card  attached  to  it. 

The  child  complied.  Carefully,  laboriously, 
she  formed  the  letters  in  her  best  round  hand ; 
yet  when  its  destination  was  explained  to  her, 
she  looked  almost  scornfully  at  the  circle  of 
expensive  hothouse  flowers. 

As  soon  as  she  could,  she  slipped  away. 
Mollie,  during  the  last  three  days,  had  very 
often  been  alone.  She  went  down  to  her  gar- 
den. She  had  not  been  near  for  three  days, 
but  now  it  had  all  at  once  regained  its 
interest. 

She  looked  around.  The  sun  had  shone 
brightly  ever  since.  Mollie  could  not  forgive 
the  sun  for  that.  She  was  certain  that  it  could 
not  be  part  of  heaven.  Heaven,  as  she  put  it, 
would  not  do  such  a  thing. 

The  flowers  were  many  of  them  drooping; 
there  were  little  cracks  in  the  soil  by  the  mi- 
gnonette patch.  Last  time  —  how  soon  for  a 
child  to  learn  the  bitter  significance  of  those 


138         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

curt  words  !  —  last  time  Gerard  had  carried  the 
can  for  her;  he  had  prevented  Claude's  spilling 
the  water. 

"  Gerard,"  she  whispered,  and  her  lips  quiv- 
ered, "  it  aches  all  over,  I  want  you  so." 

She  bent  over  the  mignonette.  Gerard  had 
said  that  it  was  his  favorite  flower;  that  her 
garden  must  always  be  full  of  it  for  him.  A 
thought  struck  her.  What  was  the  good  of 
sending  him  that  ring  of  white  greenhouse 
flowers,  if  he  liked  the  mignonettes  the  best? 
She  began  to  select  spike  after  spike.  She 
took  only  the  most  perfect.  Then  she  paused. 
A  perplexed  look  overspread  her  face.  Would 
mamma  be  displeased?  Mamma  had  bought 
the  other  flowers,  and  mamma  always  knew 
better  than  she. 

Mollie  wondered  what  she  could  do.  She 
did  so  want  to  send  to  Gerard  the  flowers  he 
loved  the  best.  Would  he  see  them?  know 
about  them?  She  tried  to  come  to  a  conclu- 
sion. She  had  shown  papa  her  heart,  and  she 
had  been  very  certain  he  would  see ;  but  he  had 
been  in  heaven  a  long  time.  Mollie  could  not 
help  thinking  there  was  a  difference.  She  lost 
herself  in  one  of  her  characteristic  tangles,  only 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          139 

to  recognize,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  misery,  that 
Gerard  was  no  longer  here  to  help  her  out  of 
her  difficulties. 

The  mignonette  dropped  from  her  hand, 
yet  she  could  not  easily  relinquish  her  plan. 
Gerard  had  bade  her  remember  that  it  was  his 
favorite  flower. 

At  length  an  idea  occurred  to  her.  She 
could  send  the  mignonette  as  well.  She  could 
fasten  it  inside  the  other  flowers.  Gerard  could 
easily  find  it  there.  She  thought  mamma  would 
let  her  do  that;  and  she  would  ask  God  to  let 
Gerard  look  for  the  mignonette.  She  had 
better  ask  him  at  once.  She  kneeled  down. 

"  Please,  God  !  "  she  began. 

Then  a  long  sigh  forced  its  way  through  her 
lips. 

She  had  told  God  that  afternoon  in  the  field 
that  He  was  greedy. 

She  rocked  to  and  fro.  In  her  heart  she 
thought  so  still. 

"  It  is  !  "  she  protested ;  "  it  is !  it  is  !  " 

She  knelt  there,  battling,  striving. 

"  It  is  !  "  she  wailed.  "  You  took  papa,  and 
now  you  have  taken  Gerard.  You  have  all  the 
angels,  and  they  '11  sing  for  you  whenever  you 


140         THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

tell  them;  it  —  it — it"  —  her  voice  rising  in 
her  energy — "it  is  greedy!" 

She  sobbed ;  she  could  not  tell  a  lie  and  say 
what  she  did  not  think.  Forlornly  she  rose; 
forlornly  she  gathered  stalk  by  stalk  of  her 
offering.  The  big  tears  fell,  drop  after  drop, 
one  by  one.  She  passed  the  mignonette  first 
into  one  hand,  then  into  the  other. 

She  threw  herself  upon  her  knees  again. 

"  Oh,  God,"  burst  from  her  lips,  "  I  can't 
help  it !  You  are  greedy !  But  let  Gerard 
see  the  mignonette." 


CHAPTER  XII 

AFTER  Gerard's  death,  Mollie  still  continued  to 
live  at  the  Dower  House,  for  mamma  had  made 
an  arrangement  with  the  new  owner  of  Rook- 
wood.  In  the  nursery,  life  seemed  to  go  on  as 
it  had  always  done;  but  to  one  little  mortal 
everything  was  changed.  Mollie  guarded  her 
secret  with  all  the  reticence  of  an  older  person, 
but  to  her  the  days  and  weeks  seemed  to  be 
only  a  time  of  waiting. 

Mollie's  nature  knew  nothing  of  forgetfulness. 
The  impressions  were  graven,  not  sketched  on 
her  heart ;  and  it  was  Gerard  who  had  fixed  the 
pattern  there. 

Very  soon  she  arranged  a  solution  for  herself; 
she  settled  in  her  mind  that  as  she  could  not 
be  Gerard's  wife  here,  God  would  take  her  to 
heaven  as  soon  as  she  was  old  enough.  She  sup- 
posed she  must  be  ill  and  die.  To  be  sure,  Elijah 
went  up  to  heaven  in  a  flaming  chariot,  but  that 


142         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

was  long  ago :  Mollie  considered  that  the  people 
of  long  ago  enjoyed  many  advantages. 

She  shrank  from  the  idea  of  dying. 

The  graves  in  the  churchyard  looked  so  cold. 
But  she  would  not  be  there,  not  really  there. 
Her  body  would  be,  but  not  her  spirit  —  so  she 
had  been  told.  She  wondered  which  part  of  her 
was  her  spirit. 

She  thought  of  all  this  as  she  sat  in  the  high- 
backed  pew  by  mamma's  side  one  Sunday  morn- 
ing. Generally  she  tried  not  to  think  of  Gerard 
in  church,  because  God  wished  her  to  give  all 
her  thoughts  to  Him.  She  recollected  that  now. 
She  brought  her  mind  into  order  and  tried  to 
listen  to  the  sermon. 

A  little  sigh  floated  past  her  lips.  She  could 
not  help  feeling  that  sermons  were  very  tire- 
some. 

"  There  shall  be  neither  marriage  nor  giving 
in  marriage  in  heaven  —  " 

What! 

The  words  fell  on  the  child's  ears.  She 
started ;  both  her  hands  sought  for  the  crystal 
heart;  she  nearly  slipped  off  her  seat. 

Mamma  looked  at  her  reproachfully,  but  that 
seemed  of  no  consequence  at  all. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          143 

Mr.  Fraser  was  repeating  his  sentence,  leaning 
over  the  pulpit  to  give  it  weight. 

Then  she  could  never  be  Gerard's  wife  —  not 
even  in  heaven ! 

Blindly  Mollie  struggled  with  the  idea ;  blindly 
she  fought  against  it.  Might  not  Mr.  Fraser 
have  made  a  mistake  ?  Clergymen  did  not  know 
everything,  though  undoubtedly  they  knew  a 
great  deal. 

Mollie  began  to  hope  that  if  Mr.  Fraser  had 
produced  the  saying  "  out  of  his  own  head,"  she 
might  venture  to  disregard  it. 

But  if  it  should  be  in  the  Bible? 

She  clung  tighter  and  tighter  to  her  crystal 
heart.  That  action  had  come  to  take  the  place 
of  clasping  her  hands  together.  Mamma  never 
reproved  her  for  that. 

Indeed,  Mrs.  Hargraves  considered  that  it  had 
its  value.  It  was  a  picturesque  example  of  a 
child's  devotion;  something  to  which  one  could 
allude  gracefully,  —  if  one  did  not  do  it  too  often. 

Mollie's  mind  was  racked  with  misgiving.  She 
must  find  out  whether  Mr.  Fraser  had  invented 
those  words.  She  decided  to  ask  nurse ;  she 
knew  how  unsatisfactory  nurse  was,  but  she  was 
better  than  Miss  Fraser.  Gerard  —  and  a  lump 
rose  in  the  little  girl's  throat. 


144         THE   STORY   OF   MQLLIE 

Mollie  soon  found  an  opportunity  for  putting 
her  question.  After  dinner,  when  nurse  was 
showing  some  Bible  pictures,  the  child  made 
her  way  across  the  room. 

"  Nurse,"  she  began,  "  does  Mr.  Fraser  say 
anything  that  isn't  in  the  Bible?" 

"  Miss  Mollie,"  exclaimed  nurse,  "  what  do 
you  mean?  Of  course  he  does." 

"  Then,"  eagerly,  "  he  might  have  made  a  mis- 
take." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  questioned  nurse. 

Mollie  was  silent.  A  shyness  had  seized  her. 
She  went  back  to  the  window.  The  new  little 
ivy  spray,  which  had  been  growing  bigger  and 
fuller  all  the  autumn,  and  which  had  taken  the 
place  of  her  particular  favorite  of  last  year, 
tapped  and  tapped  against  the  window-panes. 
Mollie  looked  at  it  wistfully,  eagerly.  She 
never  knew  how  such  thoughts  came,  but  it 
seemed  too  beautiful  to  let  her  be  so  hopeless. 

She  went  back  to  her  nurse. 

"  Nurse,"  she  began,  "  are  there  any  wives  in 
heaven?" 

The  good  woman  let  her  book  drop. 

There  was  something  appalling  about  this 
child.  Yet  the  little  face  was  so  wistful. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          145 

"  You  should  n't  think  of  such  things,"  nurse 
went  on;  "they  are  not  for  little  girls.  Wait 
until  you  are  grown  up." 

Mollie  shook  her  head.  This  was  a  matter 
which  would  not  bear  putting  off  until  a  more 
convenient  season. 

"  He  said  no  One  was  married  in  heaven." 

"  Who  said  so?" 

"  Mr.  Fraser,  this  morning." 

"  Yes,"  said  nurse,  and  the  words  had  a  more 
encouraging  ring.  She  felt  that  if  the  little  girl 
had  listened  so  attentively  to  a  discourse  which 
she  had  found  not  a  little  wearisome,  some  con- 
sideration might  be  granted  to  her.  "  What  of 
that,  Miss  Mollie?" 

"Is  it  true?" 

"  It  is  in  the  Bible." 

The  child's  face  grew  white ;  her  breath  came 
in  a  long  sob.  Then  there  was  no  hope  for  her. 
She  went  and  sat  by  the  window.  Without,  it 
looked  grim  and  mournful.  The  trees  were 
bare,  and  the  great  branches  creaked  as  they 
swung  to  and  fro  ;  the  flowers  were  over,  the 
frost  had  spoiled  the  last  of  the  dahlias  and 
turned  the  geraniums  into  little  withered  clumps 
of  brown.  The  leaves  were  being  driven  hither 

10 


146         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

and  thither  over  the  lawn.  Mollie  was  very 
sorry  for  those  crumpled,  torn  leaves.  They 
seemed  to  have  no  home ;  they  did  not  appear 
to  know  where  they  ought  to  go.  She  remem- 
bered how  bright  and  fresh  they  had  been  all 
the  summer,  how  cool  had  been  their  shade. 
It  was  not  their  fault  if  the  wind  swept  them 
off  the  branches. 

She  leaned  her  face  against  the  window.  The 
tears  slowly  trickled  one  by  one  down  her  cheeks. 
No  wives  in  heaven  !  Who  had  said  it  ? 

She  sat  bolt  upright. 

What  if  it  should  be  in  the  Old  Testament? 
Mollie  had  lately  learned  that  the  books  of  that 
volume  were  of  very  ancient  date.  Perhaps, 
since  it  was  so  long  since  they  were  written, 
there  might  be  a  mistake  in  them. 

She  slid  off  her  seat  and  hurried  to  nurse. 

"Did  David  say  it?"  she  demanded. 

Nurse  asked  of  what  she  was  speaking,  and 
the  whole  matter  had  to  be  explained  anew. 

"No,"  said  nurse;  "but  how  you  do  worry, 
Miss  Mollie  !  Can't  you  be  like  other  children 
and  read  about  Jesus  and  His  lambs?" 

But  the  little  girl  was  not  daunted. 

"  Is  it  in  the  New  Testament?"  she  persisted. 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE          147 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  replied  nurse. 

Mollie's  hands  expressed  her  pain.  Yet  she 
clung  to  every  straw,  and  there  was  just  one 
more  floating  on  her  stream. 

"Did  St.  Paul  say  it?" 

She  hoped  so  ;  for  in  that  case  she  might  still 
venture  to  hold  another  view. 

She  knew  that  St.  Paul  had  never  followed 
Jesus  as  John  and  Peter  had.  So  he  could  only 
have  known  what  some  one  else  had  told  him. 
He  must  have  asked  a  great  many  questions, 
Mollie  thought,  to  have  learned  as  much  as  he 
had.  And  she  had  discovered  that,  when  she 
asked  too  many  questions,  she  was  sometimes 
answered  at  random.  If  the  same  thing  should 
have  happened  to  St.  Paul? 

"  Nurse,"  she  demanded,  "  is  it  in  the  Epis- 
tles?" 

"No,"  came  the  answer;  "our  Lord  said  it 
Himself." 

"Where?"  breathed  Mollie. 

But  nurse's  patience  as  well  as  her  knowledge 
was  pretty  well  exhausted. 

"  In  one  of  the  Gospels,"  she  answered. 

"In  which?" 

Nurse  did  not  recollect,  so  she  administered 


148         THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE 

a  reproof  to  cover  her  lack  of  knowledge. 
Miss  Mollie  ought  to  remember  that  she  was  a 
little  girl.  She  was  enough  to  tire  a  saint,  — 
always  why?  why?  why? 

Where  would  they  be  if  Claude  was  forever 
plaguing  people  as  she  did? 

Mollie  hardly  listened.  She  felt  dull,  dazed. 
She  went  and  fetched  the  nursery  Bible.  She 
curled  into  the  window-seat  and  commenced  to 
turn  over  the  leaves.  Nothing  would  satisfy  her 
but  seeing  the  words  with  her  own  eyes.  She 
began  at  St.  Matthew  ;  she  spelled  through  all 
the  long  table  of  generations. 

Tea-time  came,  and  she  had  not  advanced 
very  far.  She  saw  that  it  would  be  a  labor  of 
days,  but  she  must  find  it.  She  once  thought 
if  she  met  Mr.  Fraser  she  would  ask  him,  but 
the  idea  did  not  commend  itself.  He  always 
put  a  fat  finger  under  her  chin  and  called  her 
"little  dear." 

She  went  steadily  on  with  her  researches. 
Hour  after  hour  she  bent  laboriously  over  the 
pages  of  her  Testament,  until  at  last,  one  wet 
Sunday  morning,  when  the  weather  kept  her 
from  church,  she  found  the  famous  reply  to  the 
Sadducees. 


THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE         149 

The  child  read  it  again  and  again.  She  closed 
her  Bible.  It  was  quite  true;  she  never  could 
be  Gerard's  wife.  She  leaned  her  head  on  her 
hands.  She  was  so  unhappy,  worse  even  than 
when  she  had  been  naughty,  and  mamma  was 
displeased  with  her. 

It  was  no  use  at  all,  trying  to  master  the  mul- 
tiplication table. 

What  was  the  good  of  learning  the  "  Blue 
Bells  of  Scotland"  on  the  piano?  Of  lying 
flat  and  sitting  on  a  straight  chair? 

Gerard  would  never  tell  her  that  he  was 
pleased :  he  was  not  waiting  for  her.  He  had 
promised  that  she  should  be  his  wife,  and  God 
had  made  him  break  his  promise. 

To  break  a  promise  was  even  worse  than  to 
be  greedy. 

A  protest  too  deep  for  sound  or  speech 
swelled  up  in  the  child's  heart.  No  man  or 
woman,  smarting  under  the  sting  of  the  inex- 
plicable, ever  protested  with  more  vehemence 
than  Mollie  did  at  this  moment. 

She  sat  still,  huddled  farther  and  farther  into 
the  corner  of  the  window-seat,  battling  with  the 
mystery  of  pain. 

Yet  mostly  she  rebelled. 


ISO         THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

She  would  never  say  her  prayers  again.  At 
dinner  she  held  her  head  quite  straight,  and 
would  not  shut  her  eyes  while  grace  was  being 
said ;  neither  would  she  fold  her  hands,  —  they 
hung  either  side  of  her  chair. 

After  dinner,  she  sat  in  a  corner,  and  reso- 
lutely closed  her  ears  against  the  Bible  stories. 

To  break  a  promise  was  worse  than  to  be 
greedy.  She  said  that  over  and  over.  She  was 
not  going  to  try  to  love  God  any  more. 

She  thought  of  Gerard.  How  could  she 
see  him  when  she  died  and  know  that  he  did 
not  want  her  —  not  one  little  bit  —  for  his 
wife? 

But  she  would  only  see  him  if  she  went  to 
heaven;  and  would  she  go  there?  Only  peo- 
ple who  loved  God  went  to  heaven ;  she  would 
go  to  hell  and  be  burned.  A  shudder  ran 
through  the  little  frame.  Mollie  remembered 
how  her  finger  smarted  when  she  rubbed  it,  by 
accident  one  day,  against  nurse's  hot  iron.  To 
be  burned  always !  to  cry  always  for  a  drink  of 
cold  water  and  never  to  get  it !  to  feel  the  fire 
within  her,  around  her,  from  morning  until 
night,  day  after  day,  year  after  year! 

She   trembled.     Yet   she  could   not  say  she 


THE   STORY   OF   MOLLIE         151 

loved  God  if  she  did  not.     Gerard  used  to  tell 
her  that  there  was  nothing  worse  than  a  lie. 

But  Gerard  had  once  said,  when  Mollie  ven- 
tured to  tell  him  that  it  was  hard  to  have  papa 
always  in  heaven,  that  God  knew  best. 

She  —  she  —  did  not  think  that. 

But  if  Gerard  said  so  ! 

Her  mind  paused  before  this  question. 

Gerard  !     If  Gerard  had  said  so  ! 

She  pondered,  turning  the  matter  this  way 
and  that.  She  could  hardly  eat  her  tea  for 
thinking  of  it. 

When  nurse  returned  thanks  she  could  not 
bend  her  head ;  but  she  did  shut  her  eyes,  — 
because  Gerard  had  said  that,  —  and  she  did 
fold  her  hands,  but  under  the  table. 

It  came  to  bed-time,  and  still  she  was  unde- 
cided. She  could  not  say  her  prayers ;  but  no 
one  knew  that,  for  Martha,  who  had  undressed 
the  children,  was  in  a  hurry  to  go  downstairs, 
and  had  left  Mollie  to  get  into  bed  alone. 

The  child  lay  in  her  cot,  open-eyed  and  so 
miserable. 

Sometimes  a  tear  trickled  slowly  down  her 
cheek,  but  she  dared  not  sob  for  fear  of  waking 
Claude.  She  clasped  her  hands  upon  her  crys- 
tal heart.  Oh,  the  "  why  "  of  it  all  ! 


152         THE   STORY  OF   MOLLIE 

Then  the  moon,  bursting  through  a  bank  of 
cloud,  sent  its  white  beams  between  the  laths  of 
the  blind  and  into  the  room.  One  single  long 
ray  of  silver  fell  across  the  floor  and  upon  the 
little  girl's  bed.  She  remembered  that  night  at 
Rookwood,  when  she  had  gone  out  to  seek  the 
moonlight  by  the  window.  To-night  it  seemed 
to  come  in  to  seek  her.  Had  God  sent  an 
angel  to  her  in  this  way?  Had  Gerard  asked 
God  to  send  one  to  remind  her  that  He  always 
knew  best? 

The  child  took  up  the  idea  and  pressed  it 
into  her  mind.  She  became  more  and  more 
certain  that  the  steady,  long  ray  was  not  like 
any  other  moonlight  that  she  had  ever  seen. 

It  must  be  an  angel.  Angels  did  shine  all 
over. 

What  must  she  do? 

She  sat  up.  The  ray  never  wavered.  It  did 
not  go  near  Claude's  cot;  no,  he  was  quite  a 
good  little  boy.  But  the  angel  had  come  to 
tell  her  that  she  had  been  very  naughty. 

The  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes. 

She  slipped  out  of  bed.  Carefully  she 
avoided  the  ray  of  moonlight;  she  must  not 
step  on  an  angel. 


THE  STORY  OF   MOLLIE         153 

She  kneeled  down. 

God  had  taken  papa ;  God  had  taken  Gerard. 
She  could  never  be  Gerard's  wife.  Yet  she 
must  try  to  love  Him. 

What  must  she  say? 

She  clasped  the  little  heart  at  her  neck  and 
held  it  out  to  the  length  of  its  chain  toward 
the  moonlight. 

What  must  she  say? 

She  knelt  on.     She  grew  cold,  benumbed. 

"Our  Father  — " 


THE   END 


HB 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000718791     7 


